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by orangina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Bus, Cake, Complete crack, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drama, FIFA World Cup 2014, Fluff, Football, Friendship, Gen, German National Team, Hotels, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Triangles, M/M, Manuel is beyond annoyed, Taco Bell, Thomas never shuts up, Walmart, crack heaven, craziness, i can't believe I actually posted this, more craziness is on the way, straight up crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangina/pseuds/orangina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Manuel wants is to get a good night's sleep.</p><p>But of course, that's an impossible wish when Thomas Müller is your roommate.</p><p>AKA a story in which Thomas drives Manuel crazy but Manuel still kinda likes Thomas ish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cake

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE January 25: Yes I realize that I am an idiot because they stayed in houses and not hotels during the WC but forgive me because I was a noobie idiot when I wrote this.

Thomas Müller was one of those people who could pop out of nowhere and talk your head off. Everywhere you went, he was there, naturally drawing attention to himself with his loud personality and commenting on everything and anything. Sometimes it was highly amusing; it was always good to have Thomas around when you needed a laugh. But other times, it was simply exhausting.

Today, Thomas decided to show up in the one place where Manuel thought he was safe from the overwhelming presence of his teammate. That place was the bathroom. At 11:21 PM.

Manuel was just minding his own business, messing around on his iPhone while he let his body do what it needed to do. Determining he was about finished, he set his phone on the ledge of the bathtub so he could wrap things up. But just then, the door burst open - literally burst open, it rebounded forcefully against the doorstopper - and in the doorway stood an expectant-looking Thomas Müller.

Manuel pursed his lips and breathed deeply through his nose. If he stayed calm, if he didn’t provoke him, maybe the boy would simply go away. But, oh, how wrong Manuel was.

Thomas folded his arms and began tapping his foot, watching Manuel as if he were a very interesting movie. “Whatcha doing?” he wanted to know.

“Taking a shit,” Manuel replied flatly.

“Oh,” Thomas said. “I’m bored.”

“Well, good thing you decided to check out the bathroom of Suite 311 because the party’s obviously in here.”

Thomas appeared to take this remark seriously as he stepped confidently into the small quarters and took a seat on the ledge of the bathtub next to Manuel’s iPhone. “What’s this?” he wondered, picking up the device.

“That is my phone. Please put it back down. And feel free to leave whenever it’s convenient for you so I can wipe my ass.”

Thomas pouted. “But I’m so boooored, Manu.” Then, his face lit up with an idea, which is never a good sign when Thomas is involved. “Let’s play a game!”

“Yes, let’s play a game. It’s called get the fuck out before I flush you down the toilet,” Manuel said, his temper rising a notch.

Thomas frowned, considering the offer. “Hm. I don’t like that game. How about…” He thought hard for several seconds, scratching his chin.

“Thomas, I was _kidding_. I’m not gonna play a game with you. You are 24-years-old, I’m not your babysitter and it’s almost midnight. I just want to go to bed, honestly.” The boy was clearly not planning his departure any time soon, so Manuel sighed heavily and accepted that he’d have to finish up his bowel movement with an audience. If it were anyone but Thomas, he’d flat out refuse, but it was Thomas, after all, and Thomas is… Thomas.

His visitor stared at him in disbelief. Manuel shook his head and got to work on the cleanup process. Thomas watched his every move as if he were performing some amazing feat. Manuel half expected the boy to begin some sort of running commentary.

“What, you’ve never seen someone use toilet paper before? Oh, right, that’s because you don’t. I forgot,” Manuel snickered at his own lame, childish jab.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “It’s a waste of time. I have places to be, you know.”

“Right, like hanging out with me in the bathroom whilst I make use of toilet paper.” Manuel concluded the process and stood to pull his boxers back on and flush the toilet.

“You’re so mean to me,” Thomas whined as Manuel turned on the sink. “I never even did anything to you and you’re always telling me to shut up and go away and I’m tired of it.”

Manuel snorted. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because you walked in on me while I was on the toilet?! Most people prefer privacy, you know, I’m not really sure about you though because you’re the weirdest f- “

He stopped abruptly when he spotted an evil smirk on the boy’s face in the mirror. Thomas’ eyes flashed dangerously, and he slowly reached his hand out to his side until he found what he was looking for. Then, he winked at Manuel in the mirror, waited precisely one second and exploded out of the bathroom, laughing wildly. “Come and get it, Manu!” he yelled.

“What?” Manuel said to himself in confusion. The sink was still running and Manuel blinked. Then, finally registering what just happened, he crashed out of the room after the little fucker, only to stumble over something gathered around his feet. Great, his pants. He kicked them off in frustration.

“Thomas, I swear to god, if you - “ He came to a sudden halt. The door leading out to the hallway of the hotel was open. “No…” he whispered. “No, he did not…”

And then he was flying out the door, ready to kill. The least of his concerns was that he was chasing his teammate around the third floor of a hotel, shirtless and in a pair of tiny underwear, at half past 11. His bare feet pounded against the carpet and he heard ringing laughter somewhere around the corner.

“THOMAS!” He roared, not even caring that most of their teammates were probably trying to get some sleep behind all the closed doors. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, LITERALLY KILL YOU, WHEN I FIND YOU. AND BELIEVE ME, I WILL FIND YOU!”

“Your camera roll is _pre_ -tty interesting!” Thomas called back. “Who should I send these lovely photographs to? Your entire extended family sounds like a good plan! Oh, and just imagine how many followers you’d gain on Twitter!”

“If you fucking send my nudes to anyone, I will _make sure_ that you don’t even have a proper funeral!”

“Oh my god, Manu, how long did you spend doing this? There’s like, 500 of the exact same picture with a slight change in angle. I understand though, you had to get the lighting just right!” More laughter. To Manuel’s relief, it sounded like he was getting closer.

“Enjoy the last 10 seconds of your life, Müller,” Manuel said to himself. He was breathing hard and sweating ferociously, but all that was on his mind was getting that stupid phone back.

At that moment was when Manuel rounded a corner and discovered he was in the same stretch of hallway as Thomas. And Thomas was running towards him. He saw the boy’s eyes grow wide, but by the time Manuel was close enough to see his eyes it was already too late.

He tackled Thomas, hard, and the iPhone flew out of the boy’s grasp as he tumbled roughly to the ground, face first. Manuel grimaced at the impact, but his phone was the most important thing right now. He located the device several feet away, scrambled to pick it up, then wiped away the perspiration that was stinging his eyes and let out a huge breathe.

Thomas was whimpering, curled up on the ground with a hand covering his nose. There was blood trickling through the spaces between his fingers. Fuck.

“Thomas, I - “ Manuel bit his lip and crouched down next to his pesky roommate’s head. It was a pretty heavy nosebleed. Instantly, Manuel’s anger faded and he realized how stupid he had been. He had a passcode on his phone. Thomas had been messing with him. And now, the poor boy lay on the ground in pain with his mostly naked attacker hovering cluelessly above him.

A door swung open and an exhausted-looking, irritable Philipp Lahm marched into the hallway, stopping cold when he registered the scene before his eyes. “What. Are. You. _Doing_.”

“Ugh,” Manuel answered, standing back up and running his hands desperately through his hair. He paced about frantically, wondering how on earth he was going to explain this.

Philipp’s mouth dropped open. Thomas moaned loudly and captured the captain’s attention.

“Thomas? What - how - “

“Okay, well, I’ll be off to my room now. See ya…” Manuel smiled innocently and tried to slip away. Philipp would take care of the boy, and Manuel could sort things out tomorrow morning when it was a more normal hour to be up and sorting things out.

“Don’t even think about it. What the hell is going on?” Philipp demanded, trying his best to resume his role as captain. It was his job to make sure everyone was in line and behaving, but he was woken up and caught off guard, confused, and had absolutely no idea how to handle this.

“He attacked me!” Thomas cried with evident difficulty enunciating his words. “He tackled me and now my nose is broken!” He rolled over onto his back, groaning, blood running across his forearms and spilling freely onto the carpet.

“There’s a good reason for it,” Manuel chimed in defensively. He didn’t know what to feel. He was annoyed with Thomas but even more furious with himself.

“Get up,” Philipp snapped at Thomas. “You’re faking just a little.” Thomas pushed himself up onto his elbows. Philipp sighed and extended a hand to pull him up onto his feet.

The captain wrapped an arm around his teammate’s back and began to lead him into his suite. Thomas dipped his head as he continued to hold his nose, failing miserably at keeping the blood within the cup of his hand, moaning and grumbling about Manuel.

Philipp turned his head to face Manuel. “You can leave.” Then he turned back. Clearly, he was not in the mood for this bullshit.

Manuel nodded to no one in particular then started slowly back for his suite. His heart leapt around in his chest. What was he supposed to think? As he retraced his path back to the room, the lights lining the walls danced about and the intricate design on the carpet swam before his eyes. Fuck this, fuck Thomas, this was not his fault at all.

He reached his door only to discover that he was locked out. He had not bothered to grab a room key in his haste, and apparently he had slammed the door shut behind him without thinking. Wonderful. This was just exactly what he needed right now.

He swung at the wall in frustration and yelped when his fist made contact. Oops, he hadn’t meant to hit the plaster _that_ hard. A loud noise reverberated through the hall and Manuel sunk to the ground, clutching his throbbing hand and grimacing. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to miraculously drop dead. Or at least turn into worm or a whale or something that lacked a painfully searing right hand.

Apparently, Philipp was not the only one to have heard the commotion. When Manuel opened his eyes, Bastian Schweinsteiger was stood before him, regarding him with nearly the same level of curiosity that Thomas had shown when he was excreting.

“Hey,” Manuel said dazedly, offering his teammate a lopsided smile.

“Hey. What’s up, mate? Are you drunk? Where are your clothes?” said Bastian.

“My hand hurts,” Manuel answered. He lifted it up clumsily to show his teammate.

Basti frowned. “What did you do?”

“It hurts soooo much,” whined Manuel.

“But what did you do?”

“It hurts. I think I’m dying,” Manuel said matter-of-factly, looking Bastian in the eye.

“How did you hurt, it though?” asked Bastian patiently.

“Thomas saw me pooping.”

Bastian blinked. “And that’s how you hurt your hand?”

“Yes.”

Silence ensued. The only sound was the faint buzzing of the vending machines in the distance. Bastian looked away and chewed on his lip, fighting a strange urge to burst out laughing, but he was worried at the same time. Manuel clicked his tongue impatiently then broke the silence.

“My hand hurts a lot, you know. Can you fix it?”

Bastian turned back to his nonsensical teammate and heaved a response. “Yes, I can. Give me a second to get my magic wand.” He turned to reenter the suite he was sharing with Lukas.

“You’re magical?” Manuel wanted to know.

“Yep,” Bastian supplied. Then he closed the door behind him and left Manuel alone.

“Owwww…” Manuel moaned. It didn’t even hurt that much. But it was nice having something to complain about besides being locked out of his room at midnight.

When Bastian returned, he had a small ziploc bag filled with ice in hand. He tossed it to Manuel, who caught it easily, then lowered himself down next the goalkeeper. Manuel pressed the bag of ice to his hand. Bastian drummed his fingers rhythmlessly against the carpet.

“What happened, Manu?” Bastian inquired quietly.

Manuel took a deep breath. “Okay, so I was on the toilet and then Thomas bursts in and starts annoying me and he WON’T leave and I guess maybe I _was_ a little mean to him, but seriously, who even DOES that? Not anyone who’s even remotely normal and properly socialized into modern human society, that’s for sure. I think I had every right to treat him like crap because a man needs his privacy, except then he got all offended that I wasn’t applauding him and thanking him for joining me or whatever so he stole my phone and ran around the hallway and threatened to send my nudes to everyone and then I caught up with him and tackled him except I think I broke his nose cause it was all bloody and then Philipp came out and took Thomas away and told me to leave so then I came back here and the fucking door was locked so I punched the wall and now you’re here and I’m tired and hungry I just wanna go to sleep and eat and...and....” He ran out of breath and trailed off.

Bastian stared at him following this lengthy confession. “Well,” he said. “I guess that would explain the hand.”

“Yes,” Manuel agreed. “Yes, it does.”

“It hurts,” added Manuel after a few seconds, in case he hadn’t made this clear before.

“I would assume so,” said Bastian. “That plaster strikes back hard.”

Manuel sniffed miserably. Bastian finally took pity on him and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Listen, Manu. I don’t blame you at all, I really don’t. Thomas can be a handful. It’s like rooming with a little kid you have to babysit all the time and remind not to stick his hand on the hot stove. It’s not easy. But you have to be patient. And if you suffer through his pesty moments, then his good ones will come. Thomas isn’t only a nuisance all the time; he can be a lot of fun, too,” Bastian told Manuel.

“I can’t deal with him anymore, Basti,” Manuel confessed. “Blessing in disguise or not, I just can’t. I’m done.”

Bastian squeezed his shoulder and nodded. “I understand how you feel. But can you just try to think about something for me?”

“What is it?”

“Think about what you _do_ like about rooming with Thomas.”

Manuel thought hard. Nothing came to him.

Bastian decided to help him out. “He doesn’t complain about anything you do, does he?”

Manuel frowned. “No. Not really.”

“There you go. Everyone always has something to say about everything that’s wrong, except him. He’s never in a bad mood, is he? Nothing worse than having a grumpy dick for a roommate.”

“No...he isn’t,” Manuel said softly.

“There you go. I just gave you two things you didn’t even realize you were lucky to have in your roommate. Trust me, I know he can be a total pain in ass, I’m not saying he’s an angel. But it could be a lot worse,” Bastian pointed out.

“I guess so,” said Manuel. Basti was right. Thomas’ nonstop energy and bubbly personality could be exasperating, but that was precisely why Manuel liked Thomas so much in the first place. His happy mood was contagious. This world was full of Debbie Downers and Negative Nancys, Manuel realized, but Thomas was not one of them. Not ever, even when he had every excuse to be. There was never a single moment when a goofy grin didn’t threaten to take over the younger one’s face.

Manuel leaned into Bastian, who allowed him to make himself comfortable. He yawned hugely and let his eyes flutter shut. “Lukas better not come out here,” he mumbled.

Bastian chuckled. “He won’t. And it’s okay, don’t worry about that.”

The two friends sat like that for an unknown quantity of time, drifting off together. Manuel’s thick body had a tendency to contain heat, and as he lay with his uncovered skin against Bastian, it soon became uncomfortably warm.

Manuel sleepily removed himself from Bastian and rubbed his eyes. At that same moment, shuffling footsteps were heard somewhere down the hall. It sounded like they were getting closer.

“Shit,” Manuel groaned rawly. “Who’s that?”

“Your pet dog,” Bastian said humorlessly.

Sure enough, it was Thomas Müller. He marched right past the goalkeeper and the midfielder, either actually not noticing them or doing a very good job pretending he didn’t. He stuck the room key in the slot, kicked open the door, and stomped in, and slammed it shut behind him while Manuel watched with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“I think he’s a bit cranky,” said Bastian after a few seconds. “Not gonna lie, I would be too if I were him. It’s way past his bedtime.”

Manuel snorted. “He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t even bother to turn down that stupid fucking music whenever he plays Candy Crush at three in the morning.”

Bastian stifled a laugh. It wasn’t even funny though, because it was true. Everyone had had their turn rooming with Thomas, and some things never changed.

Manuel turned to face him with raised eyebrows. “Should I go in?”

Bastian shrugged. “Go for it, mate.”

Manuel gulped and stood up, Bastian followed suit. He thumped the goalkeeper’s back and wished him luck and a goodnight. Manuel thanked him before he unlocked his door and closed it gently behind him so as not to wake up Lukas.

“Please, Thomas, answer the door,” Manuel begged silently before knocking.

Nothing.

Manuel pounded harder. “Thomas?” he called. “I know you’re in there, I just saw you go in. Open the door? Please? I promise I’ll be nice.”

Still nothing.

“Thoooommasssss…” Manuel stretched out his name and continued rapping at the wood. “Thomas Müller, please open this door right now or I’m waking up Jogi.”

Nope.

“Thomas.”

“Thomas.”

Manuel made a noise of frustration and rested his forehead against the door. “I’m sorry!” he said desperately. “I’m sorry, okay?”

The door swung open and Manuel almost fell forward into the room, his balance having depended completely on his head against the door.

Manuel blinked and smiled stupidly. “Hey,” he said. “Uh, thanks for letting me back into our room.”

Thomas regarded him as if he were a giant slime coated maggot.

“Yeah. So. I think I’ll just come back in now? If that’s okay?” Manuel shook out his arms nervously but did not take a step.

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Hi,” Manuel said.

“Hi,” said Thomas shortly.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Thomas agreed. He stepped aside and wandered back into the suite, leaving Manuel to release a breath he had been holding.

Manuel leaned against the wall, trying to get himself together. His legs felt like jelly and his stomach was jumping around. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deeply. Then, once he had established that he was all healthy and clear, he imitated Thomas and entered the suite.

All the excitement and drama had left him hungry. After putting on some real pajamas over his underwear, a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, he headed straight for the suite’s kitchen. Oh, how splendid would a salami and cheddar sandwich be right now…

Except for the small problem that someone had not gotten a new loaf of bread from the freezer after using the last slice. Someone that wasn’t him.

Manuel stood with the fridge door open, staring at the shelf where the bread normally would be.

“Thomas.”

No answer.

“Thomas!” he said a little louder.

“What?” Thomas yelled back.

“You didn’t put in a new loaf of bread in the fridge.”

“So the fuck what? No one told me to.”

Manuel slammed the fridge door shut indignantly and spun around. “No one _told_ you to?!? Who am I, your mother? Jesus Christ, you are such a baby!” He switched to a high-pitched mocking voice. “ ‘Put the new loaf of bread in the fridge, Thomas!’ ‘Throw your banana peel in the garbage when you’re done with it, Thomas!’ ‘Don’t pick your nose Thomas, that’s yucky!’ ‘Don’t jack off in public Thomas, that’s illegal!’ “

“Okay,” Thomas retorted. “You do so many things that annoy me, you leave hair and shaving cream all over the sink, you throw all your dirty clothes onto my bed, and you know what I do? I clean up the sink and I move your clothes back with your stuff. I don’t constantly whine and complain about everything you do and it’s unfair that you can’t just do the same and stop being such prick about every little thing I do. How hard is it to just move a loaf of bread from the freezer to the fridge because I forgot to do it _one_ time? A lot easier than bitching about it for five minutes, I’m sure.”

“Grow up,” Manuel grumbled. But he knew he had lost this one. He left the kitchen and collapsed into a chair in the bedroom, not having the energy to care that Thomas was lounging on the bed across from him.

He buried his face in his hands and tried to shut his mind down. If he could just fall asleep, he could deal with all of this later…

“Fuck you, I hate you,” Thomas said calmly. “You’re disgusting.”

“Sure,” Manuel replied, completely deflated. “Says the guy who likes to walk in on other guys using the bathroom and watch them shit.”

“Manuel…”

“Yes?” Manuel was exasperated, drained of everything he had. He didn’t care if he was causing more damage than was his legal limit.

Thomas stared at the goalkeeper. He had never seen his friend like this before, and he himself was rarely pushed to this level of frustration. The only time he ever showed this much heat and anger towards other people was during a high-emotion football match. He didn’t like this at all. He wanted it to be over, he didn’t want to fight anymore and he was willing to do anything to make that happen.

“What are your hopes and dreams, Manu?”

“For you to shut the hell up.”

Thomas swallowed roughly and flipped to his other side so he wouldn’t have to see the goalkeeper anymore.

“No, really. What is it?” he replied.

“Uhm, I don’t know. Why are we talking about this?” Manuel asked, irritation clear in his tone.

“Because why not.”

“Because you’re an annoying little shit, that’s why.” Manuel lifted his head from his hands and looked at his teammate through heavy eyes. Thomas was stretched across the bed, facing away from him, his limbs flopped carelessly in all different directions. All the lights in the suite were still on, and Manuel had completely lost all sense of time.

Thomas did not say anything distinguishable, but he did whimper softly into his pillow. Manuel had forgotten how much his nose must have hurt. But he had a feeling it was not only Thomas’ nose that was hurting.

Manuel bit his lip and looked down at his hands which were now folded in his lap. He sighed, pushed himself out of the armchair, and went to sit on the edge of the bed next to his defeated friend.

“Thomas…” he muttered. He placed a hand on the younger one’s back. Thomas did not relax, but he did not flinch away either. Manuel moved his other hand to caress the boy’s hair and spoke gingerly to him.

“Thomas, I...I don’t know what to say. I know I’m wrong. I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for getting pissed off so easily. I’m just really tired, not that that’s an excuse, but…”

“It’s my fault too,” Thomas added. “Believe me, I know I can be a lot sometimes, I’m not completely oblivious, you know. I’m sorry, too.”

There. Everything had been said that needed to be said, yet there was still something unsettling in the atmosphere. Manuel decided to ignore it for now.

“Okay,” he said gently, bringing his hands back to his sides.

“Yeah,” said Thomas, still facing away.

“Okay, well, should we go to bed?”

“Nah. Let’s bake a cake,” Thomas suggested.

“ _You_ can,” Manuel said as he shuffled around to switch off the lights and climb into his own bed. “I’m going to sleep.”

“I’m going to bake a cake,” Thomas retaliated, not moving an inch.

“Whatever floats your boat. Just be sure there’s enough left for me when I wake up,” answered Manuel as he pulled up his covers over himself and reached to turn off the final light on the nightstand.

“You’ll wake up with frosting smeared all over your face.”

“I would love that.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Manuel thought that Thomas had perhaps fallen asleep. He had left some windows open, so a soft breeze flowed throughout the room and moonlight filtered around the shadows and furniture. The ocean waves crashed against the shore in the distant background.

“Manu,” Thomas said, his voice causing Manuel a mini-heart attack.

“Thomas,” he answered.

“I seriously do want to bake a cake though. I’m not tired and I want chocolate.”

Manuel rolled his eyes. “Why the fuck would anyone bake a cake for a birthday when you could do it at two in the morning while your poor roommate is trying to sleep?”

“Exactly,” approved Thomas, and he got up and began turning various lights back on, crashing into various pieces of furniture in the process.

“Oh my god, Thomas. I was kidding. Please don’t bake a cake,” Manuel begged, his face contorted up in a strange mixture of pain and amusement. “You can bake a _million_ cakes after we wake up if you want, but just not right _now_. I’m really not in the mood to hear you banging around in the kitchen, dropping everything on the floor and setting off the smoke alarm - OOOMPH!” Thomas shut him up by whacking him furiously with a pillow, straight in the stomach.

“Absolutely not. I’ve made up my mind and I won’t give up until I’ve got a nice, big, warm, chocolatey cake sitting in front of me,” Thomas said proudly, and he marched into the kitchen to get started.

“What is my life,” Manuel groused. He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes still adjusting to the sudden burst of light. Then, shaking his head, he pushed himself up off the bed to follow his crazy teammate.

The goofy smile on Thomas’ face positively exploded when he saw that Manuel had joined him. “You’re gonna help me! Yay!”

“I’m gonna help you not set the kitchen on fire,” Manuel clarified. He watched nervously as Thomas fumbled around in the cabinets, searching for everything all at once and not knowing exactly what he was looking for. Thomas seemed to locate something he needed, because his face lit up and he yanked it out of the cabinet, causing everything else to crash down onto the floor. Manuel grimaced as various ingredients cascaded to the ground and spilled freely.

“Shit!” Thomas cursed as he leapt back to avoid a waterfall of baking soda.

Manuel breathed deeply. He was not caught off guard. At all.

“Manu, I dropped everything in this cabinet!” Thomas exclaimed, looking around desperately at the horrible mess on the floor.

“Yes, you did. Congratulations. Maybe if you sweep it all up into the cake pan, you can just stick that in oven and call it a day?” Manuel smirked, watching as his distressed friend’s hopes and dreams were slowly crushed. Or, should he say, _crashed_.

Thomas frowned at Manuel, his fists balled at his sides. “You were supposed to help me!” he cried accusingly.

Manuel lifted up his hands in defense and raised his eyebrows. “Not my cake, not my problem.”

Thomas’ face crumpled. “Manu,” he whined. “Manu, I am actually about to cry right now.” His lips quivered, and then, before Manuel could do anything to stop him, he began wailing dramatically, very clearly feigning.

“Oh, god! Thomas! Please! Shut the fuck up, everyone can hear you!” He hurried over to the boy and covered his mouth and nose with his hand. Thomas, obviously not liking this, began to squirm around, trying to push the giant goalkeeper off him. But it was not use. His small frame was nothing compared to Manuel’s body.

They were soon rolling around on the floor with all the baking soda and sugar, Thomas struggling against Manuel’s enormous body mass and emitting muffled screams into his hand.

“Thomas, I swear to god, you need to calm down right now or shit is going to go DOWN,” Manuel grunted, doing his best to pin the spazzing striker underneath him. “What the hell did Philipp even give you to make you act like such a crazy?”

He almost had him. Manuel had almost pinned Thomas, he was on top of him, he just needed to move that one arm around so -

“AAAAGGGGGHHH!!!!” Manuel shrieked even more loudly than Thomas had. He flew backwards into a cabinet and screamed again when he landed heavily on the floor - directly onto his right hand. “FUCK! NOT MY FUCKING HAND!”

What had happened was that Thomas had licked his palm. It was a simple but effective maneuver. The odd sensation had completely thrown Manuel off, and it certainly helped that he was already stressed out about getting Thomas under control. Thomas giggled innocently as Manuel lay feet away from him, moaning wildly about his hand.

“Which one?” Thomas wondered. “The one I licked or the one you just broke?”

Manuel did not provide an answer. He simply lay there on the floor, making all sorts of indistinguishable noises while Thomas listened with his eyes wide and his ears open.

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked with concern, scooting on his knees over to where Manuel lay, spreading the white powder even more around the already coated floor in the process. It honestly looked like a blizzard had come through the room.

“No,” Manuel blubbered, breathing heavily. “No, no, no, no, no, no. I’m not okay at all. All I wanted in life was a puppy and an allowance and now I’ve been captured and embodied by the G-forces and I’m pretty sure we just woke up the entire continent.”

Thomas stared down at him curiously. “The G-forces?”

“What?”

“What?”

“What was _that_?”

“A knock on the door?” Thomas suggested nonchalantly.

“The G-forces?” said Manuel.

Thomas shrugged. “Maybe.”

“What are we even doing, anyway?” Manuel wanted to know.

“Baking a cake,” Thomas reminded him.

“Oh. Right. My hand hurts a lot. I didn’t know that was a consequence of cake baking, but alas," Manuel answered.

Thomas sighed. “Life sucks sometimes.”

“It really does,” Manuel agreed sadly.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. My hand hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said very kindly.

For several minutes, the two footballers just hung out together on the kitchen floor, thinking about life, not speaking but communicating silently through eye contact. But their ponderings were interrupted by yet another rapping loud on the door. Manuel’s eyes widened in fear and Thomas shot him a warning look: _It’s the G-forces, don’t open it._

However, it turned out that their guest at this unlikely hour was indeed not the G-forces.


	2. Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I had wayyyy too much fun writing this. Hope you enjoy it!

Manuel cracked the door open tentatively, and Thomas peered through the thin slit to see who the intruder was. Nevermind looking through the peephole because that’s too inconvenient.

The striker turned his head back, a look of approval on his face. “It’s okay, Manu, we’re safe. It’s only one of the hotel workers,” he whispered indiscreetly.

Manuel nodded and swung the door fully open. At this point, he and Thomas found themselves face to face with a dark haired, neat-looking man clad in the fancy uniform.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he greeted them, his voice strong and professional.

“Hello, sir,” Manuel responded politely.

“I do apologize for the interruption, but we have received several complaints about some very disturbing noises coming from your room,” the man told them, keeping up his professional demeanor, but it was hard to miss the nervousness hinted in his tone.

“Well,” Thomas interjected. “That’s uplifting.”

Manuel clenched his teeth, silently willing Thomas not to say another word. “We’re very sorry, sir. We’ll be sure to be more considerate from now on.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said the man. “Because it is our policy to ensure that every guest has the best experience we can offer, I’m afraid I had to come up here and investigate. Which brings me to ask...if you don’t mind...uhm…” His eyes flitted about between the two, wondering who was most safe to direct the question towards.

“Go ahead and ask us, sir, we won’t bite,” Manuel reassured him with a smile.

The man returned the gesture as best he could, but ended up pressing his mouth into a downturned line instead. He focused on Manuel. “Well, this isn’t part of my duties, but I just wanted to make sure...that, you know...Is everything okay up here?” The last part tumbled out of his mouth quickly.

“Fantastic,” answered Thomas. “Everything is okay. Except for the kitchen, that is, it’s not in the best shape right now. It’s a long story. And my friend Manu thinks he broke his hand, but honestly he’s probably just being dramatic -”

Manuel elbowed him hard in the side, then disguised the action by slinging his arm over Thomas’ shoulders. “Yep, everything is great. Thanks for coming to check up on us. The service around here is exceptional, I have to say.”

A pained expression took over the man’s features, which he didn’t even bother trying to hide. “Alright, well, glad to hear it, gentlemen. I guess I’ll be on my way now. I wish you a good remainder of your night, and please keep our little chit-chat in mind when determining future, uhm, activities. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Manuel assured him, and Thomas’ head bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Goodnight, gentlemen” he said, his voice returning to its professionalism. Then he walked off, Manuel shutting the door behind him.

Thomas let out a sigh of relief, collapsing onto his bed. “Jesus, Manu, that was a close one.”

Manuel hadn’t moved an inch. He covered his face with his arms and fell against the wall for support.

“Manu?”

“Don’t even talk to me, Thomas,” he grumbled into the wall.

“What? Why? Did I do something?”

“Yes. Yes, you did. Now don’t say another word or I will vomit.”

Thomas locked his mouth with an imaginary key and threw it away. But Manuel vomited anyway, rushing to the bathroom just in time to loudly hurl everything he had eaten in the past 12 hours into the poor sink. He stood there for several moments, forearms rested on the counter, staring at the disgusting arrangement of half digested food items before him and spitting roughly to cleanse his mouth. Then, groaning, he carefully lowered himself until he was seated on the lid of the toilet.

For the second time in less than two hours, Thomas joined Manuel in the bathroom, looking not bored this time around but very scared. He returned to his spot on the ledge of the bathtub and eyed Manuel frantically.

 _Can I talk?_ He mouthed.

“No. Please. For _thirty_ seconds, just give me some peace,” said Manuel shakily. His mouth was still trembling and his face had turned an unpleasant shade of green. He rested his elbows on his legs and held his face in his hands.

Thomas looked at him pleadingly, his lips pouting and his eyes doing their best impression of a cute puppy. All the while, he counted in his head.

The silence was shocking during those short 30 seconds. It was such a contrast from the chaos of earlier that it was almost eerie, in a way. Neither of them even shuffled their feet around. The only noise was the quiet rhythm of Manuel’s ragged breathing. The rest of the silence pressed hard against their eardrums.

But all too soon, Thomas had reached the precious number 30 in his head (faster than any other 30 seconds Manuel had ever experienced) and returned to his natural state of nonstop talking.

“What happened, Manu? Are you sick?” he asked worriedly.

“How naive can you be? Yeah, I'm sick. Sick of _you_ , that is,” replied Manuel harshly.

Thomas’ head dipped forward.

“Oh, give me a break. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. If there’s anyone who should be pitied here, it’s me. Me, the unfortunate person who’s had to share a room with you for the past two weeks. Why can’t you just be _normal_ for once in your life? Really, why? Does everything have to turn into a weirdo-fest with you around?” demanded Manuel.

“Stop,” Thomas begged.

Manuel snorted. “ ‘Stop’, he says. Stop what? Stop trying to get myself a good night’s sleep for one time in two weeks? Stop trying to get you to chill the fuck out at two in the morning when everyone else on this side of the equator is trying to sleep?”

“It’s the prime meridian.”

“Thanks for the geography lesson. God knows it’s just what I needed right now.”

Thomas didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up slowly and exited the unconventional meeting area, grimacing at the sink on his way out. Manuel cursed his life under his breath. He now had a destroyed kitchen, a clogged sink, and a butthurt Thomas to deal with.

Heaving an enormous sigh, he pushed himself up and went to the kitchen for some paper towels. May as well take care of the sink and kitchen first and maybe the boy will have taken care of himself by then. All fruit eventually ripens if left on the tree for long enough.

He began wiping up the chunks of vomit, trying his very best not to throw up again in the process. He felt awful. The back of his throat stung with acid and throwing up seemed to have made him feel worse instead of better. His head pounded from lack of sleep, and he didn’t even want to think about training, which was now less than six hours away. His eyes ached from the lights, and he would have turned them off and worked in the dark had he not been concerned about accidentally sticking his hand in the pool of sick.

There. That was good enough for now. Now on to sweep up the kitchen. He stuffed the soiled paper towels into a plastic grocery bag and tied it up. Then, leaving the bathroom, his lungs relaxed exponentially with the blast of clean, non-vomit infected air. He located a broom and dustpan in the kitchen, but stopped abruptly after a couple strokes. Because wait, shouldn’t Thomas be cleaning up his own mess?

“Thomas,” Manuel addressed him softly. There was no need to be any louder; there was nothing to shout over.

Manuel would’ve been surprised to hear a response.

“Can you please come in here and clean up the mess you made? Here, I even got out the broom and dustpan for you.” Letting the tools crash against the counter unstably and fall onto the floor, his brief stint in the kitchen ended.

He returned to the bedroom, where Thomas was curled up in a ball under the covers. Rolling his eyes, Manuel turned off the lights in the bedroom and crawled into his own bed. Finally. Peace at last. The boy was clearly fast asleep. Except that he wasn’t really.

“Manu,” he said after Manuel had settled into his sheets and covered his head with a pillow to block out the lights in the hallway.

“What. Do. You. WANT?! I swear to god, you are not going to try and bake another cake until I am far, far away from you,” Manuel grouched into his pillow.

“Do you really have nudes on your phone?” said Thomas lightly from underneath the covers.

“Yes. In all honesty though, who doesn’t?”

“People who have a little respect for themselves.”

Manuel bit his lip. “Okay, if you’re just going to ask me questions so you can insult me, then you can forget about this conversation happening right now and I’ll go to sleep.”

“Well, you’re the one who always responds to me so you make it pretty easy for me to keep talking. Can I see them?”

“Uhm,” said Manuel. “No?”

“Who’re they for, then?” Thomas wondered.

“Someone who isn’t you, that’s who,” said Manuel. By this point, he had given up all attempts to restore sanity to the situation. It was simply impossible with Thomas involved. It was probably easier to go with the flow and just try to make it through the rest of the night without having an ulcer.

“Well, who then? Is it someone on the team?” inquired Thomas.

“Thomas, my nudes are my business. Worry about your own,” Manuel said, his words drained of all emotion.

A second’s pause. “Can I talk to you about something?” Thomas said quietly.

“If it involves you not actually saying any words, then go for it,” replied Manuel flatly. He was only half aware of his surroundings now as he drifted into unconsciousness, sinking into the mattress as he felt himself getting heavier with sleep.

“I messed up,” Thomas confessed.

Manuel’s stomach growled with hunger. He still had not eaten anything and now his stomach was completely empty. “Yeah, I know. I think the entire hotel knows, in fact. We can try it again tomorrow and I’ll help you this time, I promise. I can even stop by Walmart to pick up some ice cream for the side, if you want. That would be an awful lot of sugar, though.” He knew he was rambling, but it was hard not to when you were so sleep deprived and didn’t know half of what was coming out of your mouth.

“No, I’m not talking about the cake thing,” clarified Thomas.

“Well, what is it then if it’s not the cake thing?”

Thomas swallowed. “It’s Miro,” he explained, his voice laced with sadness.

“Huh...” Not what Manuel had expected his teammate to want to talk about with him after their chaotic night.

“It’s Miro, Manu.”

“What about him? Miro, I mean?” said Manuel. He knew perfectly well what is what. You’d have to be completely oblivious to not realize what was happening between the veteran and the boy. He couldn’t find it in him to dismiss Thomas right now, though. He wanted nothing more than to stop battling the sleep that threatened to take over his exhausted body and just let it win. But he had his limits. He knew some things were more important than others.

“I don’t know,” Thomas grumbled. To Manuel’s surprise, he didn’t say anything more.

“Okay,” Manuel began cautiously. “Well, if you want to talk about it, I’m listening.”

“Thanks,” muttered Thomas. He rotated under his covers and no more words were spoken.

Manuel felt himself immediately falling into a deep sleep. Images and snippets of conversations danced around in his head, but it was comforting. It was a distraction from the odd atmosphere of the bedroom, from the crickets and frogs singing openly out the window and Thomas moaning and gasping in the other bed. It was not enough of a distraction, though.

“Save the masturbating for later and go to sleep,” Manuel demanded of Thomas, his voice raw and displeased.

But Thomas didn’t stop. And Manuel realized, with a shock so huge that it brought him back to full consciousness, that Thomas was crying. He had never witnessed the boy in tears before. No, Thomas was always happy, happy, happy, a wide smile plastered on his face and contagious laughter hinting just behind his lips. Manuel had no idea what to do or say.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could come up with. Then, mentally beating himself up for his incompetence, he sat up against the headboard and pushed back the covers.

“Thomas,” he said gently. “Come here. It’s okay…”

And as if he had been waiting for the invitation, Thomas unraveled himself from the twisted sheets and crossed the short median between the two beds, hands covering his mouth. With the weak beam of light streaming in from the kitchen, Manuel could make out his teammate’s shuddering form and he felt his heart split in two. Then, before he could prepare himself, Thomas was in his bed. He pulled the boy into his arms and Thomas buried his soaked face into the goalkeeper’s chest, sobbing unrestrainedly.

It felt good to be with Manuel. He held him tightly, and his muscular enormity was a comfort to Thomas’ long and lanky figure. Thomas folded easily into Manuel’s lap, and he kept crying even after his entire store of tears and drool and snot had leaked out onto Manuel’s shirt. It was so warm, so wonderful, and he didn’t want to be let go of. Manuel wasn’t Miroslav, but he was enough.

Manuel didn’t know how much time had passed at this point, but it didn’t matter. Slowly, Thomas’ violent quaking was reduced to the occasional quiver, and his unabashed bawling to a sniffle here and there. Still, he didn’t let go. His shirt was soiled with all sorts of various bodily fluids, including Thomas’ and his own, and he didn’t care. The entire night he had spent wishing that Thomas would be whisked away by some fairy godmother so he could get some sleep, but now he would do anything for that same fairy godmother to bind them together so the boy couldn’t leave his arms. At least until the morning. Nighttime was an entirely different universe.

He moved his hands to thumb over the boy’s soft, heated cheeks. He knew if there was light, they would be bright pink. “It’s okay,” he murmured into the boy’s untamed hair. “Everything’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t be,” whimpered Thomas into his shirt. “He hates me, Manu, and every time I see him I act like an idiot and make him hate me even more.”

Manuel blinked. “Not gonna lie, you act like an idiot every time you see everyone.”

Thomas groaned.

“But I don’t hate you because of it. So Miro probably doesn’t, either?” added Manuel quickly, willing himself to just shut up. “In fact, that’s why everyone loves you so much, Thomas. Because you can just be yourself without feeling the need to impress anyone.”

Thomas shifted so he was sitting up straight and looking into Manuel’s eyes. It was dark, but there was enough moonlight to make out the sea of blue contained in them.

“That’s what my teacher told me when I was eight. No one wanted to play with me on the playground because I kept dropping handfuls of mulch down their shirts and laughing hysterically,” he said sadly.

Manuel frowned. “Oh,” he said. “Well, you don’t drop handfuls of mulch down people’s shirts anymore, do you?”

“No. I do eat it, though. Mulch, I mean,” Thomas sniffled.

“Not gonna lie, I eat it sometimes too. It has such a rich taste, a single piece has got to have tons of nutritional value, I bet,” said Manuel softly, licking his lips.

Thomas nodded. “It does. I’m on a diet at the moment, though.”

“Hm. I guess that means we won’t be going to Taco Bell in the morning, then,” said Manuel disappointedly.

“No, it’s strictly a mulch-free diet. Taco Bell can do,” countered Thomas.

Manuel grinned. “Excellent. You and I will host a Taco Bell team bonding event tomorrow, then. I’m sure Miroslav would love to come.”

“I’m sure he _wouldn’t_ ,” snorted Thomas.

Manuel gave him a puzzled look. Thomas looked back at the goalkeeper blankly.

“What?” Manuel said.

“I’m confused,” replied Thomas.

“Aren’t we all,” concluded Manuel as he twisted his head to get a look at the clock. 3:16. Oh.

Thomas attempted to peer over Manuel’s broad shoulder to no avail. “What’s the clock say?”

“It says it’s time for little Thomas to go to sleep,” Manuel answered as he slipped out from underneath Thomas and stood next to the bed. Then, he scooped the boy up, turned around, and tossed him back onto his own mattress.

Thomas let out an unmanly squeal as he landed. Manuel rolled his eyes at the striker’s amazing inability to give his voice box a rest. Even in his sleep, he would occasionally mumble some nonsensical declaration about turnips or elephants.

“Goodnight, Thomas,” Manuel said as he climbed back into his bed for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

“Goodnight, Manu. Thanks for putting up with me. I owe you one,” gushed Thomas.

“Nah, it’s nothing. Just shut your mouth and go to sleep, that’s all I want from you right now,” said Manuel.

“We’re still going to Taco Bell tomorrow, right? Last thing, last thing, then I’ll be quiet,” Thomas said fervently, hearing Manuel’s sharp intake of breath at the question.

“Yes, we are.”

“Okay, good, just checking, because I really do want to go. Goodnight, Manu.”

“Goodnight, Thomas,” huffed Manuel.

“Goodnight. Is your stomach feeling better?”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“Okay, good, I was just checking. Throwing up sucks.”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“I can’t remember the last time I threw up, actually. It might’ve been a few years ago when I got food poisoning. I never understood how one little bite of food could have such a big effect on your body. I didn’t pay much attention in biology, to be honest, but I wish I did. It’s pretty fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely fucking fascinating. Goodnight.”

“We should go to the zoo, speaking of which.”

“Yes. Goodnight.”

“Don’t you think that -”

“ _Shhhhh_.”

“ _Shhhhh_ ,” Thomas agreed.

The conversation ended there, to Manuel’s great relief. Thomas squirmed around under his covers and Manuel flopped a pillow over his head again to block out the faint shuffling noises. Finally. Silence and darkness. Nothingness.

Manuel finally had the brain capacity to think about something besides Thomas’ incessant neediness. He wasn’t even tired anymore, he had lost all desire to sleep. He was enjoying the peace and quiet too much to slip away from it into unconsciousness.

Thomas Müller was annoying as fuck, that was for sure. But he was also undeniably amusing, a good person to be with if you just wanted to let loose and be absolutely ridiculous without feeling guilty. He was a good friend to have. And Manuel was content with Thomas’ friendship.

So why was it that he had felt pangs of jealousy shoot around his insides at the mention of Miroslav Klose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and extra thanks for kudos and comments. I love hearing what you think and even the smallest word can make my day! :)


	3. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Sorry it took so long to update this, I was working on other fics. But nevertheless I hope you find at least a little bit of entertainment within this chapter :)
> 
> ~HAPPY BIRTHDAY THOMAS!!~ :D

“Thooooomaaaaas…” A soft voice registered vaguely in his groggy head. He tried opening his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy and the light was painful.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” Manuel called cheerfully as he made his way around the suite, opening curtains to let in the weak early morning sunlight and brewing coffee. “We have training.”

Thomas responded with a throaty groan. He had absolutely no intention of moving. His limbs were too heavy to move, anyway. A bittersweet aroma reached his nose. Coffee. Good.

Manuel hummed as he filled two mugs with a generous amount of coffee. He added milk and sugar; four times as much for Thomas - whose sugar to coffee ratio preference was unlike that of most people - then returned to the bedroom.

“Come on, Thomas, get your stuff ready. We’re leaving soon,” ordered Manuel.

“Mrrrmph.”

“Excuse me?”

“‘M tired,” Thomas mumbled into his pillow.

Manuel raised an eyebrow, taking a seat on the edge of Thomas’ mattress. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.”

“Yeah, okay. You’re the one who stayed up till three in the morning baking cakes and running around the hallway screaming. Don’t even try to argue with me on this one,” said Manuel. His tone was hard but his hands were gentle as they worked at the tight muscles in Thomas’ shoulders and back.

“I feel like shit,” whined Thomas.

“Boo-hoo. Get the hell up,” Manuel snapped, thumping the striker’s back twice in succession and standing to retrieve the coffee.

With an enormous effort, Thomas shifted to a seated position against the headboard. His head pounded ferociously with the sudden movement and blackness swam before his eyes. One thing was for sure, and that was that his attendance at training today was not going to happen.

“Here, I made you coffee. I put in a crapload of sugar, just how you like it,” Manuel bribed his exhausted teammate, who unenthusiastically acknowledged the favor. He set the mug on the nightstand next to Thomas and went to sit in the armchair next to the large window to enjoy his morning caffeine. Their room overlooked the ocean, and a sliding door led to a balcony that neither German had yet bothered to take advantage of.

Manuel sipped on his coffee and Thomas slurped down his entire mug in about ten seconds. Manuel watched his friend amusedly as his throat worked to take down the hot liquid, making loud gulping noises in the process.

Once he had downed the whole thing, Thomas let out a burst of air and breathed heavily for several moments. Manuel snorted into his own drink.

“I’m delighted to see that you took the time to enjoy the coffee I made you,” he chortled.

Thomas rolled his eyes and scowled. “I _did_ ,” he grumped before setting his cup aside and flopping back onto the mattress to show no more signs of life.

Manuel bit his lip and took a deep breath. It was simply too early in the morning for this. If he stayed calm, there would be no issues. But if he freaked out, then Thomas would react and that’s when all hell would break loose.

“Thomas,” he began evenly. “I’m only going to say this once. I really don’t want to get frustrated with you, so I need you to cooperate. We have an important training session this morning, so you need to get your little ass out of bed and come down to the bus with me within the next five minutes. If you don’t, then expect me to drag you out of bed and carry you down there.”

“Jesus Christ, Manuel, just leave me alone for once in your life!” Thomas croaked, rolling over under his covers. “Why are you always so worried about what _I’m_ doing, anyway? It doesn’t fucking matter! Just leave me here and go without me, for god’s sake! I’m tired and I want to sleep, just go away.”

It was a fair point. But Manuel wouldn't admit it. He glared at the striker, who settled back into his mound of pillows. _Calm, Manuel, calm. It’s 6:30 in the morning._

“You are a part of this team, Thomas, and a very crucial part in truth. However, you are not any more important than anyone else as a person. You do not have special privileges. You cannot just skip training because you’re ‘tired’. Now, please get up,” imparted Manuel.

With an irritated whine, Thomas forcefully sat up again and crossed his arms across his chest. His hair was a disfigured mess, his face unshaven, and his eyes looked daggers at Manuel.

“Hey, Manu, here’s an idea,” he said dramatically. “Why don’t you focus on yourself instead of me? You’re just sitting there, you’re not even doing anything! So stop telling me what to do!”

Suddenly, Manuel remembered something that he held over Thomas. He was bigger and stronger, that was true. But there was something else, too. A promise he had made last night that he could threaten to break if necessary. A very delicious yet extremely unhealthful promise.

Manuel relaxed in the armchair and threw his arms back behind his head, smiling lazily. “Well, looks like _someone’s_ cranky this morning.”

“That’s it,” Thomas growled, shooting out his hand to grab his empty mug and flinging it towards the goalkeeper with all his might in one swift motion. Manuel ducked and the mug hit the wall, smashing into pieces and causing Manuel to laugh heartily at the striker’s miss.

“I’ve already got myself ready, that’s why I’ve turned my focus to you!” he revealed through laughter.

“Shut up!” Thomas yelled, annoyed and frustrated. He clambered out of bed and stomped towards his roommate’s suitcase. While Manuel was busy laughing, he scooped up as much of its contents that were spread around Manuel’s bed as he could, tossed them into the suitcase, and made a break for the balcony carrying the majority of the goalkeeper’s clothing.

Slowly, Manuel’s hoots evolved into a silent, horrified expression.

No. He wouldn’t.

No.

“Thomas. No.”

Now it was the younger one’s turn to laugh as he dumped the suitcase over the railing onto the pool deck several stories below, smirking with glee.

“THOMAS, STOP!”

“Nope! You deserve it, assbutt!” And with one last hurl, the final symbolic t-shirt had been disposed of, landing in the leaves of a potted plant. Several other lighter garments floated on the surface of the bright blue pool, carried there by the breeze.

Assbutt? What?

Thomas held onto the railing for support as he doubled over in laughter, unable to taunt Manuel with any translatable comments.

“No…” Manuel said weakly, glued to the spot. At some point during the escapade, he must have gotten to his feet because he found his knees were now buckling. He shook his head in desperation. “No...that did not just happen…”

Thomas returned to the bedroom, brushing his empty hands in satisfaction and a proud look on his face. “Oh, but it _did_ ,” he helpfully supplied.

Manuel sunk to the ground, burying his face in his hands. Technically, it was not that big of a deal. He could simply take the elevator to the pool deck and retrieve his clothing and suitcase. But that was not his main concern. What Manuel was worried about was the fact that he’d been so easily outsmarted by the most immature, childish member on the whole of die Mannschaft.

The room was silent, save for Manuel’s occasional whimper of shame and the cries of the seagulls and the ocean outside. Thomas plopped himself onto the armchair previously occupied by Manuel, wondering what exactly to do with his life now.

“Well,” Thomas declared, vocalizing his ponderings. “Now what?” He drummed his fingers on the armrest, looking expectantly at his defeated teammate.

The blond simply shook his head, trying to decide whether to scream, kill Thomas, or fling himself over the balcony in suit of all his belongings.

He made up his mind to combine the second and the third options.

Slowly, he returned to his feet and steadied himself with a deep breath. Thomas studied him curiously with wide, innocent eyes.

“Where are you going, Manu?” he wanted to know.

Manuel gave him a weird look. “I’m not going anywhere, but _you_ are,” he huffed in response.

And with that, he stalked towards the skinny striker and effortlessly lifted him from the waist, tossing him over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Okay, well, where are you taking me then?” Thomas wondered, gripping the hem of Manuel’s shirt to steady the bumpy ride.

“You’re going swimming,” Manuel explained.

“What?”

“What?”

“I asked where you were taking me and you said I was going swimming.”

“Correct.” Manuel casually slid open the door to the balcony, noting its sudden increase in use not to enjoy the ocean view but to dump various objects over its railing.

“I don’t want to swim. I want to go back to sleep,” Thomas told his captor.

“Oh, well. We don’t always get what we want in life, kiddo,” reasoned Manuel as he stopped several feet from the railing and hitched up his victim, who was sliding off his shoulder, and prepared to get rid of him once and for all. “I didn’t want to be your roommate but what do you know, I’m your fucking roommate.”

“Okay, timeout, Manu. Timeout. You’re not telling me that you’re about to throw me over this railing, are you?” asked Thomas.

Manuel raised an eyebrow. “Well, actually, I am. I-”

“NO!” shrieked Thomas as he began kicking his arms and legs around frantically. “Please! Don’t kill me! I love you! I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of your life, but only if I’m still alive! Please - AHHHHHHHH!”

Manuel had made a sudden thrust forward, still maintaining a firm grasp on the boy several feet away from the drop, but Thomas did not know this as he was facing the opposite direction. The younger German began thrashing about even more wildly and Manuel received a painful knee-to-the-chest.

“Ow, what the fuck Thomas, calm down, I’m not actually going to-”

“LET ME DOWN!!! TIMEOUT!”

“Good grief, child, I can’t unless you stop trying to strangle me!” panted Manuel as he attempted to pry Thomas’ hands from around his neck.

“I HATE YOU! YOU’RE SOOOO MEAN TO ME ALL THE TIME AND NOW YOU’RE TRYING TO KILL ME!” screamed the feralized footballer.

“Thomas- OW, what the _actual_ fuck, why are you trying to bite me?!”

“Because _you’re_ trying to _kill_ me!! Ever heard of a concept called self-defense?!”

“Yep, it’s what I use all the time against you.”

At this point, Manuel was struggling to stay on his feet. He collapsed onto a deck chair with Thomas in his lap, gasping for breath, and shoved the squirming boy off of him.

Scrambling to his feet, it took Thomas several seconds to realize he was safe and indeed not freefalling through the air to his death. He froze, squeezed his eyes shut, and flared his nostrils. Meanwhile, Manuel had begun to massage the various areas of his body that Thomas had beaten, punched, choked, and bit.

“You scared the _shit_ out of me, Manuel Peter Neuer,” Thomas spat out painfully.

“Likewise.”

Thomas opened his eyes and frowned. “What? How? What did _I_ do?”

“You just- everything you- Okay, look, I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go inside...get our stuff for training...and pretend like everything is normal and that nothing happened. Sound good?” Manuel suggested as kindly as he could as he moved his hands to massage his throbbing temples.

Thomas considered this, sticking his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and pacing the small balcony before seeming to settle on an answer.

“Nah.”

Manuel grimaced, looked up at the sky as if the answer to all his roommate troubles was somewhere among the clouds and stars. When he realized it wasn’t, he sighed and focused on his nutcase of a teammate again.

“Okay, well, I am going to go. It is your choice whether you come with me, but I’m going. While you happen to be here, please go down to the pool and bring back all my stuff that you threw down there. Also, do not burn down the room because I’d prefer to sleep in an actual bed tonight. God knows I need a good night’s sleep. Have a pleasant day. Goodbye.” And with that final word, he stood to return to the room, grab his bag, and get the hell out of this place.

“Wait-”

“ _What_ , Thomas. _What_.”

“Taco Bell?” A hopeful grin appeared on Thomas’ face.

Manuel rolled his eyes and continued through the doorway. “Absolutely not. No. No way. I’d rather eat glass for the rest of my life than spent twenty minutes at Taco Bell with you.”

Thomas’ face fell and he followed the goalkeeper, grabbing his arm and pleading for a change in mind.

“No,” replied Manuel flatly. “You’ve lost your chance. Ask someone else to take you, or go by your-”

Both Germans froze when they noticed that they had company. Their mouths dropped open in synch.

“-self…”

Miroslav and Philipp looked just as surprised to see their hosts as the other way around. Except in addition to surprised, the veterans looked slightly horrified as well as...amused?

The goalkeeper and his roommate looked into each other’s faces, searching for an explanation for their tardiness. After much thought, the only thing they could come up with was attempted murder. But that didn’t sound very impressive, and impressing the elders of die Mannschaft was vital.

The two companies stared at each other, no one daring say a word. Finally, it was Miroslav who broke the silence.

“I have so many questions about what I just witnessed,” he began. “But I will only ask one: how many fingers am I holding up?” He lifted his arm to display his thumb and forefinger in a ‘V’ formation.

“One,” Thomas was eager to respond.

“Two,” Manuel jumped in to cover up the mistake.

“The thumb is not a finger,” Thomas explained to the group, particularly to Miro in order to make a good impression on him.

“Yeah it is,” Manuel countered exasperatedly.

“Technically not, according to Wikipedia.”

“And according to Wikipedia, you are technically an idiot. Whatever, who even cares? He’s holding up two fingers, Thomas. Stop being all technical, no one thinks you’re smart.”

“According to Wikipedia, I am a ‘German footballer who plays for Bayern Munich and the German national team’,” insisted Thomas.

Meanwhile, Miro and Philipp had caught each other’s eye, both trying not to break down in laughter.

Manuel stared at the youngest in disbelief. “You _actually_ looked yourself up on Wikipedia.”

Thomas shrugged. “Yeah. So? Who hasn’t, really?”

“Someone who has better things to do besides searching themselves on the Internet.”

“Like what? Taking nudes? Out of all self-promoting activities, mine is perhaps the most innocent.” Thomas smirked, knowing he’d won. Then he directed his attention towards the other two and added, “Manu here has thousands of nudes on his phone, you know.”

Manuel huffed, rolling his eyes and looking back at their visitors, not even bothering to deny Thomas' outrageous claim. Philipp was grinning nervously, but Miro was shaking with silent laughter, his hand resting on Philipp’s shoulder.

Which sent a pang through Thomas’ gut.

Manuel noticed Thomas’ shoulders slump and he stepped beside the boy to wrap a protective arm around him and pull him close. Manuel didn’t like Thomas’ reaction to Miro's simple gesture at all.

After several uncomfortable seconds, Miro finally got a grip on himself and put on a straight face, and Philipp recovered his ability to speak again.

“May I ask what exactly you two were trying to accomplish out there on the balcony?” he asked authoritatively.

“That is a good question. We were going swimming, I want to say? I'm not really sure, but apparently it wasn't getting ready for training,” Thomas proposed with a shrug.

Miro snorted and turned around, covering his mouth.

Manuel’s facial expression demonstrated his own lack of knowledge regarding the situation.

The captain raised an eyebrow. “Well, whatever it was, I’m glad you’ve finished because the bus was supposed to leave ten minutes ago. We were sent up here to come collect you,” he disclosed, eyeing Thomas’ untamed hair and pajamas suspiciously.

Miro turned back and nodded his agreement, biting his lip rather harshly.

“How’d you get in here anyway?” Thomas asked incredulously. He felt Manuel tighten his hold around his body.

“I’m your captain,” Philipp unveiled. “I have access to certain things that the rest of you don’t.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Thomas agreed, nodding.

“Good, I’m glad this is clear.” Philipp gave Thomas a quick head-to-toe assessment. “Now, er, get some proper clothes on and come on down to the bus. I’ll tell Jogi that you’re on your way and try to convince him to save the yelling for later. See you soon.”

With that, he started for the door. Miroslav followed, but not before offering a quick wink and thumbs up to the other two.

“Alright, see you in a minute,” Manuel assured, loosening his hold on Thomas and heading to the bathroom for a glass of much-needed water before departing.

“Hey, Thomas,” he addressed the boy, setting his glass back down on the counter then heading to open the door for the hall. “I’m going now, meet you down there. And hurry up!”

“Kay,” answered Thomas as he dug around unenthusiastically for some clothes. He had no plans to leave the suite; he was completely worn out and really wasn’t in the mood to see Miro grabbing Philipp, as a friendly gesture or not. But he needed to act like he was at least before Manuel left.

He heard the door shut and immediately halted his search. Then, letting out a sigh of relief, he collapsed onto the first bed he could reach and was fast asleep within minutes.

But before his thoughts were wiped blank, he found himself wishing for the strong, warm arms of the goalkeeper to be wrapped around him once again.

\-----

Manuel highly doubted that Thomas would follow him downstairs. He was not in the least bit surprised when the striker’s beaming smile was nowhere to be seen as the bus took off for their training pitch.

Thomas’ absence was quite obvious, on account of his usual presence being so noticeable. It was unlike Thomas to be skipping any sort of training, let alone during the World Cup, so Joachim motioned for Philipp to come sit next to him, probably to inquire about the striker’s absence, and questions floated around the back of the bus where most of the players sat. Some were worried; they needed a healthy, happy Thomas on the pitch for their best shot at winning. Unavoidably, most of these questions were directed towards Manuel simply because the two were rooming together.

“Little monkey decided he needs a break?” Miroslav had taken the vacant seat next to Manuel after poor Philipp had left to be interrogated by Joachim.

Manuel nodded, hoping this conversation wouldn’t last too long. It was his chance, his only chance for the next three weeks at least, to take a break from his exhausting roommate and he didn’t really want to spend these precious few hours simply discussing said roommate instead.

Plus, there was the fact that Manuel didn’t want to converse with Miroslav about anything, Thomas or not. He felt a strange irritation towards the man that he knew was misdirected. It wasn’t Miro’s fault that Thomas wanted him and not Manuel.

Another reason why Manuel was glad Thomas wasn’t here, in addition to getting a break. Manuel didn’t want to see the two together in any way. This morning had been enough. Manuel prayed that Thomas wouldn’t insist on inviting Miroslav along on the Taco Bell expedition. Not that sophisticated, wise old Miroslav would even want to eat somewhere as exotic as Taco Bell. But still.

Miro sighed. _Me too,_ thought Manuel at the older one’s expression.

“Did you get a little bit of sleep, at least?” Miro asked, knowing Thomas well enough to safely assume that the question was valid.

“No,” Manuel answered, laughing humorlessly and shaking his head. “No...no.”

Miro patted the goalkeeper’s shoulder amiably. “I can relate,” he offered. “Been there, done that.”

All of a sudden, Manuel recalled something the striker had mentioned last night.

“Miro,” he said, turning to face the Pole and arranging his face in what he hoped was a mild, curious expression. “Why does Thomas think you hate him?”

Miroslav looked confused, his eyebrows furrowing at the question. “What? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re referring to.”

“Last night,” Manuel explained patiently. “Thomas sort of...was upset because he thought that you hated him?...or something? I don’t know, I was confused, I just wanted to see if you knew what that was about.”

Miro raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see any reason why he would think that. Thomas is my friend, I like him a lot, and I thought…” he trailed off, then shook his head and looked away.

“Hm?” Manuel pressed. He needed an answer.

The veteran stared at the pattern of the seat in front of him, avoiding Manuel’s eye. The goalkeeper would surely pass on whatever information he received on to the boy, right? So why not? It needed to be revealed eventually, and this was a much easier way to reveal it. Cowardly, yes, but easy. He may as well.

“I don’t hate him in any way, that’s ridiculous. I guess since I just don’t _like_ him the way he wants me to, he assumes…” Miroslav made a circular motion with his hand, looking for the right words. When nothing came, he shook his head in defeat and calmly looked back at an expectant Manuel. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Manuel assured him, gathering all his self-control to try and keep the relief from spreading across his face. But it was spreading too fast and Manuel couldn’t help it.

“Are you okay?” Miroslav peered curiously at the goalkeeper, who looked as though he’d just been deemed not guilty out of a long-lasting murder trial.

Manuel blinked several times and smiled a ditzy smile. “Me? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. How are you? It’s a great day for training, isn’t it?”

Miro frowned and tilted his head slightly. “Sure it is…”

Manuel giggled stupidly and looked out the window with a wide grin spreading ear-to-ear uncontrollably and reaching his eyes. He was acting like an idiot, he knew it, and he hoped no one could see him. But Thomas was all his. He had the boy all to himself. That’s all he cared about at the moment. _Thomas could be his_.

A gentle hand on his back brought Manuel back to earth. He shook his head to clear it and turned back to Miroslav, his little celebratory daydream over as quickly as it had started.

“I’m going to go sit with Phips again, is that alright?” the Pole inquired lightly.

Manuel nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, that’s alright. Sure. Talk to you later!” He offered the confused man another giddy smile. Miro cordially thumped the goalkeeper’s spacious back and got up to return to his former seat.

Butterflies of happiness danced through Manuel’s stomach and made their way up to his chest and head. He simply could not believe it. Here he’d been vacuously assuming the whole time that Thomas and Miro had been romantically involved and that Miro had somehow hurt Thomas’ feelings. But was Thomas’ breakdown last night really just because Miroslav didn’t think about him in the same way, and they never had a relationship to begin with? Yes, it had to be, Miroslav himself had just informed him and now that he actually thought about it, there was never any evidence, not even any wild rumors to prove otherwise. Before he could realize it, Manuel was smiling again and staring blankly off into the distance. Oh, the things he and Thomas could do together...if only Thomas would give him a chance. Would he? Manuel had so much love to give, but was Thomas willing to put aside all their stupid arguments and give him a chance to prove it?

Once again, Manuel’s thoughts were interrupted by yet another teammate demanding to know his roommate's whereabouts. This time, it was Mats, poking his head over the seat in front of Manuel and staring at him intently.

“Where’s the Mulli?” Mats wanted to know.

Manuel looked back at the defender blankly. “Huh?”

“Thomas? Why isn’t he here?” Mats clarified.

Manuel thought for a moment, letting the question sink in. “Uhm...uh...Thomas...uh...oh! Yeah, uh, he’s not here. He’s not feeling great so he slept in.” He shrugged as if to add ‘I don’t know, why don’t you ask him and not me?’

“Ah, I see. Well, I hope he feels better in time for Tuesday,” returned Mats conversationally. He then offered Manuel an apologetic smile and turned back to his own seat, probably to share this new crucial information with Benedikt and continue gossiping about the various going-ons of the team.

Sure enough, Manuel caught a snippet of their discussion.

“The entire floor could hear them, and probably the rooms above and below too...I just want to know what they were _doing_ in there, it sounded pretty rough,” Benedikt mused before being shushed by Mats.

And finally, when enough people had consulted Manuel directly for an update on Thomas and the information was thoroughly spread among the bus, he was left alone, much to his solace.

He retrieved his phone from his bag to send Thomas a text. The boy was most likely fast asleep, but he would respond when he woke up. Manuel punched in a message and hit ‘send’, the swoosh notification indicating that the message had been delivered.

*I’ll text you when training’s over. Meet me at Taco Bell. And please, PLEASE, try to get my clothes back in the meantime. I’m not panicking yet but I will be later and I really don’t want you involved if that happens. Sleep well :)*

Manuel heard a familiar snicker from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Bastian with his arms folded across the top of the seat, his head settled on his arms, and his eyes trained down on the screen of Manuel’s phone. Lukas popped up right beside him, resting his chin on Bastian’s shoulder and smirking in an identical fashion.

“Taco Bell, eh? What an inspiring place to bring someone you’re trying to impress,” taunted Bastian.

“And do you mind if I ask what exactly you were doing to have misplaced your clothes so tragically?” Lukas added teasingly.

Manuel shoved his phone back into his bag. “Yes, I do mind,” he said brusquely. “Now please go back to where you came from and continue doing whatever you were doing before.”

Lukas whispered something into his partner-in-crime’s ear and they both cracked up with laughter.

“May we join you at Taco Bell?” Bastian asked sweetly after he had recovered.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” grunted Manuel.

“Oh, but please! We _really_ want to come along! We won’t tease you or cause any trouble, we promise!” begged Lukas.

“Yeah,” agreed Bastian. “Please? We’ll even pay for your food!”

Manuel rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, what a _magnificent_ deal, you’ll pay for my cheap ass tacos in exchange for a ticket to humiliate me whenever you feel like it for the next three months.”

Lukas pouted. “Manu, why not? You know we would never do that to you, we’re your friends!”

“Yeah, you can trust us.” Bastian nodded his concurrence and added a swift wink.

Fed up and outnumbered by the dynamic duo, Manuel sighed and gave in. “Fine. But I swear, if you do _anything_ to embarrass me, I am never inviting you two anywhere ever again, by yourselves or with each other. Well, it’s not as if I actually invited you _this_ time. But you get what I mean.”

Lukas and Bastian exchanged a victorious fist bump (much to Manuel’s annoyance), thanked the put-off goalkeeper, and returned to their seats to stick their heads together and mind their own business once again.

“Why do I have a feeling like you’re lying to me…” Manuel mumbled to himself. He was irritated at himself for always giving in so easily, but this Taco Bell outing couldn’t end up that badly. Right? What could possibly go wrong in just twenty or so short minutes spent at a fast food restaurant? Plus, Thomas would be there too, so it would be okay.

Well, no, take that back. Thomas Müller being there could only make it worse. Adding Thomas Müller to the mix of the two deadliest pranksters on the team was like adding the final cherry on top of a delicious ice cream sundae.

What had Manuel gotten himself in to? He prayed everything would go smoothly, that they would order their food, eat it without any disruptions, and leave the restaurant without any additions to their police records.

But you never know. You just never know. It could go either way.

So after an average-to-awful training session consisting of lots of screaming coaches, boring drills (they could not afford any injuries), and much bickering among frustrated and exhausted teammates, Manuel found himself seated inside Taco Bell with a mountain of burritos and tacos (generously purchased by Bastian Schweinsteiger), his puerile roommate, and the unruly It Couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, are you liking the story or is it just too crazy? :P XD
> 
> P.S. Are these chapters too long? I could write shorter chapters if those are preferred :)
> 
> P.P.S. My [tumblr](http://neueresque.tumblr.com) if you feel the need to know


	4. Wal-mart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New extra-long chapter!
> 
> Thanks for all your lovely comments, reading them always makes me want to write more <3
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Leon.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

By the time training had finished several hours later, it was lunchtime and Thomas still had not answered Manuel’s text.

Manuel frowned as he studied his phone, staring at the lack of text notification from the boy as if this would cause one to magically appear. Shaking his head in disappointment, he dropped the device into his bag and headed for the showers.

Tensions were running high in the locker room. It had not been a good morning. The final straw had been a hard tackle from Jérôme in which André had to leave the pitch with a twisted ankle. It was a minor injury that would heal itself within a day, but the incident was nonetheless a sufficient outlet for frustrations. The fact that Thomas was missing did not seem to be helping much; he was the comic relief of the team, his infectious laughter and non-stop joking kept everyone’s spirit alive. But Thomas had not been there today. No one really spoke as they showered, changed, and prepared to leave. A few grumbles could be heard every so often, but most of the team was hot, tired, and had had it.

Manuel, however, was not quite on the same page as everyone else. He was just as uncomfortable as everyone else was, but for drastically different reasons. The high from Miro’s confession had worn off and he was now worried. Why wasn’t Thomas answering? Was he mad at Manuel? Manuel certainly hadn’t been the most desirable roommate over the past few weeks; was Thomas finally sick of it? As the water cascaded over his aching body, soothing his muscles and cleansing his skin, Manuel wished he had been more patient with the poor boy. Instead of reacting to everything, he could have just ignored him and none of this ridiculous drama would have occurred.

But if he had ignored Thomas would he have been brave enough to admit to himself that he felt something for the lanky striker? Would he have come to terms with the confusion inside of him? Would he ever had thought he had a chance with the boy?

Yes.

No. 

Yes.

No.

Manuel wasn’t sure. Sighing heavily, he reached for the shower handle. If he wanted Thomas, there would be a lot of making up to do.

\-----

Manuel decided to return to the hotel with the rest of the team. Where else was he supposed to go? He needed to check on the status of his clothes, anyway. The ones that had been precariously dumped from the balcony. If Thomas hadn’t answered his text, there was a good chance his entire supply of jeans and shirts was still hanging around at the pool. Or worse -- had been picked up by someone other than Thomas, never to be seen again.

He unlocked the door to their shared suite and pushed it open, apprehensive, unsure of what would would be revealed.

“Thomas, I’m back,” Manuel had the decency to warn the boy before barging in. But there was not a sound to be heard, not a single movement to be detected.

Fittingly, there was no response. Which meant that Thomas was definitely not here because he would’ve never passed up an opportunity for conversation. 

Manuel dumped his bag carelessly onto the carpet and made his way further into the suite. Where had Thomas gone off to? What sort of crazy thing was he doing this time? Manuel shook his head and smiled slightly, amazed by the boy’s versatility.

And versatile he was indeed, because it took Manuel several moments to notice the stationary lump on his own bed. When he finally did, his heart skipped a beat and he froze, blinking the image into clarity, subconsciously timestamping it into his memory.

Thomas was fast asleep, curled up in a ball on Manuel’s bed. His breathing soft and steady, his lips parted slightly and his eyelashes brushing his pink cheeks. He looked so innocent in his sleep; it was as if this weren’t the same boy who never stopped talking, yelling, laughing, and driving everyone crazy. For once in his life, Thomas was silent and unmoving and Manuel was taken aback. He had always been sleeping at the same time as his teammate, so he had never before witnessed the phenomenon of a quiet Thomas. It scared him a little, to be honest. It scared him that such a lively person could turn into this little fold of warmth and comfort that hardly moved.

Regaining his mobility, Manuel moved forward to sit on the edge of the bed beside the boy once again. Only this time, it was on his own bed. Why had Thomas crawled into Manuel’s bed to sleep instead of his own? Manuel felt his ears and underarms growing warm at the thought. And why hadn’t Thomas used his own blankets? His own comforter? His own pillow? He had to use Manuel’s?

He reached out to place a palm against the boy’s forehead and smooth back his hair with ginger, gentle strokes, like one would do with a small puppy. Thomas’ breathing hitched at the disturbance, but he did not wake up.

“Thomas,” Manuel muttered. He did not know what to do. Should he rouse the boy? Should he just leave? Manuel wasn’t sure, but the one thing he did know was that sitting here petting his sleeping teammate was not going to accomplish anything.

The afternoon sun blasted through the open ceiling-to-floor windows, heating Manuel’s back and casting a great beam of light against the bed. It was hot, and Thomas was wrapped tightly in a blanket. His head had slipped off Manuel’s pillow and was positioned uncomfortably inches from the edge of the mattress.

 _What am I supposed to do?_ Manuel wondered. If it were anyone but Thomas, he probably would have just got up and found something better to do away from the monotony of the hotel, but-

At that moment, Manuel’s trance was interrupted by the sound of a text notification coming from his bag. Cursing whoever had disturbed the moment, he got up as lightly as he could and searched his bag for the pesky device. Then upon its location, he leaned against the wall to check the message.

*When are we going?* Bastian.

Manuel was temporarily confused until he remembered. The agreement. Taco Bell. Bastian and Lukas.

Wonderful.

Another text popped up before Manuel could respond to the first, this time from Lukas. *Basti and I want to leave now for Taco Bell. Are you ready?*

 _No_ , thought Manuel. _If I’m honest, nothing in my life has come close to preparing me for what this could turn into._

*Nearly. I just need to get Thomas up, hold on.*

And to Bastian: *As soon as I get Thomas awake.*

He pocketed his phone and pushed off the wall to tend to Thomas again. At least he knew what he was supposed to be doing now. He crossed the room and once again took his vigil above his helpless roommate.

“Thomas,” he said, shaking the boy’s vulnerable form. He felt bad waking the boy up, especially because he was so damn cute while sleeping, but what else could he do?

Thomas emitted a low groan and shifted, acknowledging his intruder, this stranger that had so crudely pulled him out of the comforting embraces of sleep.

“It’s time for Taco Bell.”

Thomas took in a long, stuffy breath through his nose then opened his eyes. He looked hazy and horribly confused. Manuel didn’t blame him one bit.

“Taco Bell? Do you still want to come? Basti and Lukas are coming with,” Manuel informed him.

The striker yawned hugely and slowly sat up, nodding. He rubbed his eyes and Manuel patted his head before leaving to give him some privacy. “Good boy.”

Manuel exited the suite to wait in the hallway for Thomas. He didn’t even have time to blush or feel embarrassed about the encounter with Thomas on account of his phone buzzing again, twice in succession. Tweedledee and Tweedledum were at it again.

*Okay, we’ve already left so we’ll meet you there. Come without Thomas if he’s still sleeping.*

*Let him sleep, god knows we’re all exhausted. Just meet us there.*

Too late.

Manuel tried not to feel too guilty. He reminded himself of how eager Thomas had been to go in the first place. He’d be disappointed if he missed out on this once-in-a-lifetime excursion.

About ten minutes later, a bright-eyed Thomas emerged from the suite. He was freshly showered, wore tight dark jeans and a light gray v-neck which made his blue eyes sparkle, and smelled like heaven. Or at least Manuel thought he did. Thomas grinned upon seeing his roommate. The extra sleep had definitely done good to his mood and appearance.

“Did you sleep okay?” Manuel asked as they headed for the elevator, side by side.

“For the most part,” Thomas replied. “I had some funky dreams, something about getting pushed off a cliff into the ocean and dying. But I feel good now.”

Manuel’s cheeks burned and he looked down. Why did he have to be so insensitive? The boy obviously needed to catch up on his sleep; he should’ve just left him alone this morning and avoided all the kerfuffle.

Thomas pressed the elevator button and studied the goalkeeper as they waited. He looked nervous, uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet and avoided Thomas’ eye. 

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, Manu?”

“Nothing,” the blond mumbled. The doors opened and the duo stepped in the elevator, splitting to opposite ends. Manuel crossed his arms and Thomas faced his back.

“You’re acting weird,” Thomas pointed out as the elevator began its descent, the red numbers flashing as each floor was passed. 

“Rough morning,” Manuel spoke towards the blank wall. “Good day to miss training.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie. Manuel’s own lack of sleep was beginning to catch up on him.

“Sorry I ditched,” said Thomas quietly.

Manuel’s heart leapt. “Everyone was wondering where the hell you were. You could’ve at least told someone.”

“I was tired. I said I was sorry,” replied Thomas calmly.

“Don’t tell _me_ ,” Manuel snapped back. “We’re all tired, Thomas. All this flying back and forth across Brazil, all the changes in weather, we’re all exhausted. It isn’t just you. You need to understand that everything isn’t always about you.”

“Stop lecturing me,” shot Thomas.

“I’m not, I’m just saying-”

“Shut the fuck up, Manu. Just shut up. I’m so tired of you criticizing me all the time about everything I do. You think I’m annoying? Well, what’s even more annoying is you nagging me all the fucking time.” The level of contempt in the voice that was usually friendly scared Manuel.

Manuel huffed and shook his head. This was not going well at all. Granted, he was the one who had started it, which bothered him greatly. “Whatever, Thomas.”

“Why are you even coming if you’re so bothered by me?” Thomas retorted. “You constantly complain about me, yet never seem to want to let me out of your sight.”

Thankfully, the doors leading them to the lobby decided to open at that moment, releasing some of the tension trapped in the small confinement. Thomas exited first, but Manuel kept both feet planted inside the elevator.

Thomas looked back over his shoulder. “You coming?” he asked, making an effort to soften his tone. He didn’t want to have another pointless argument right now.

Manuel bit his lip and stared back, his arms still firmly folded across his chest. He wanted to follow. Mostly, he just wanted to give Thomas a hug and apologize for being a douchebag and smell his cool, clean hair and skin and feel his warmth pressed up against him. But a bigger part of him warned him to stay behind and let the boy enjoy some company more pleasant than himself for once.

“Go ahead, Thomas. I’ll stay here. Have a good time,” dismissed Manuel.

Thomas looked confused. “In the elevator?”

“Uhm, what?” Manuel said shortly. The doors tried to close between them but he stuck his arm out and they jerked back. He stuck his hands in his pockets, a confused expression on his face.

Thomas blinked. “You’re staying in the elevator.”

Manuel stared at the lanky figure in front of him, who licked his lips and stared back.

“No, Thomas. I’m not staying inside the elevator,” the goalkeeper finally responded, rolling his eyes.

A ghost of a smile lingered on Thomas’ lips. “Where’re you going then?”

Manuel raised an eyebrow. “Not to Taco Bell. That’s where I’m going.”

The striker shrugged. “Okay, then. See ya.” And he spun around and sauntered off without a care in the world, his tight jeans hugging his perfect little ass.

Manuel’s eyes followed Thomas as he crossed the lobby. He had a strange urge to laugh, and he had no idea why. Maybe it was because he was exhausted; everything seems funnier when you’re severely lacking sleep. Or maybe it was because Thomas was so ridiculous that it was simply impossible not to grow a little happier with him around.

The elevator doors attempted to close again. This time, Manuel stuck his foot out to stop them. He really needed to make a decision, and hanging out in the elevator doorway was not an option. He could either go to Taco Bell with his teammates or hang out in the hotel by himself with nothing to do.

Sighing, Manuel withdrew his hands from his pockets and ran one of them over his face. Staying in the hotel would assure that he would have nothing to do with whatever dilemma Thomas certainly would get himself into at Taco Bell. But it would be boring, and whether or not Manuel liked to admit it, he’d be missing all the excitement. And Bastian and Lukas would be there too. It would be fine, fun, a good time, even.

“Thomas,” Manuel called after the boy as he stepped out of the elevator.

Thomas stopped and looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. He had been just about to step into a section of the revolving doors that led to the busy sidewalk outside.

“I...I, uh, decided to come after all,” Manuel said lamely after he had reached Thomas. He licked his lips nervously.

To Manuel’s surprise, Thomas grinned smugly. “Mhm. Thought so.”

Manuel smiled back in relief. It would’ve been so easy for Thomas to tell him to fuck off, and he had every reason to do so. But he hadn’t. Guilt crept into Manuel’s conscience. His patience with Thomas was pretty much nonexistent and meanwhile, Thomas continued giving him chance after chance to redeem himself. Granted, that was a consequence of Thomas’ personality; the striker was somehow the most selfish yet selfless person in the world at the same time. Thomas was an impulsive, spur-of-the-moment kind of person who failed to plan much of anything and could drive you up the wall within five minutes of his company. But he had so much life and love to offer that it was an incredible feat not to adore him. And what did Manuel offer in return? Lectures and a bad attitude. It was an unequal friendship, and Manuel vowed to change that if it involved staying up till five in the morning baking all the cakes in the world.

They didn’t speak as they entered the revolving doors. Or, in Thomas’ case, _tried_ to. In his attempt to slip in after Manuel, his foot caught on the corner of one of the dividers and it peeled his shoe cleanly off his foot, catching the back of his foot as it did.

Thomas yelped and bounced forward into Manuel’s back, startling the goalkeeper. Manuel didn’t budge though, Thomas’ body mass was no match for his own. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder to find out what the boy had done this time.

Thomas was rubbing the back of foot and grimacing in pain. “Ow,” he whimpered, looking pleadingly up at Manuel.

“What’d you do?” Manuel asked kindly, eyeing the striker’s sock. It was pale pink and embellished with various rodents; mice, hamsters, chipmunks. A commendable fashion choice, if Manuel could say so himself.

The doors led them outside and he grabbed Thomas’ forearm to help him hop onto the sidewalk.

“The door ate my shoe.” Thomas pouted like a five year old would after dropping his ice cream cone.

Manuel did his very best not roll his eyes and instead gave a reassuring smile. He didn’t care much for revolving doors, either. What was so difficult about just pushing the door open yourself?

“It’s okay. Stay right here, I’ll go grab your shoe for you.” He squeezed the boy’s arm before letting go and turning to investigate the shoe situation. Thomas hobbled dramatically on one foot, receiving multiple strange looks from passersby. “Don’t fall over, cause I’m not carrying you to Taco Bell.”

“You would though,” Thomas said truthfully.

It was true. Manuel would be more than happy to carry Thomas the few blocks to Taco Bell. But that would result in even stranger looks than the ones Thomas was currently receiving.

“Nope,” Manuel said back, tugging Thomas’ shoe from beneath the divider that had caught it. Once it was free, he tossed it in Thomas’ direction and waited for him to put it back on.

But Thomas just stood there, looking pathetically adorable. At least he now had both feet on the ground.

Manuel bit his lip. Thomas rubbed his stomach. He was hungry. He hadn’t even had breakfast.

“What?” Manuel finally said. “Put your shoe on and let’s go.”

“I can’t.”

“Pardon?”

“I can’t put my shoe on because it’s broken,” Thomas elaborated, his blue eyes focused on Manuel’s flashing ones.

Manuel blinked, processing this information. “You broke your foot in a revolving door? Jogi’s gonna be happy to hear that.”

“Nooo,” Thomas groaned in frustration. “The _shoe_ is broken!” He held it up for Manuel to see, and indeed the footwear was torn in several places.

“What the fuck?” said Manuel, squinting at the destroyed material.

Thomas shrugged, letting the shoe fall to the ground. “Oh well. Guess we’ll be going to Taco Bell with only three shoes between the two of us, then.” And with that, he marched off in the direction of the highly anticipated fast food chain, leaving a gaping goalkeeper behind.

“Thomas!” Manuel hurried after his companion. “You can’t just leave your shoe on the sidewalk!”

“Okay, why don’t you pick it up then?” Thomas suggested as they fell in stride together.

“Because it’s _your_ shoe…”

“Whatever. I’ll get it on the way back or something. It’s not like I’m littering, it’s just a shoe, Manu. People leave their shoes on the sidewalk all the time.”

Manuel frowned and looked over at his teammate. “Uhm. No they don’t?”

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but Manuel stuck his arm out in front of the boy and interrupted. “Oh look, it’s a Wal-mart. Let’s just go get you a pair of flip flops or something.”

Thomas nodded in agreement. “And maybe we can get you some new clothes too,” he added as he followed Manuel into the warehouse store.

“Wh - oh, no...” With a slow jolt through his body, Manuel realized that he still had not picked up the clothes that Thomas had thrown over the balcony.

“You know, the ones I - ”

“ _Yes,_ Thomas, I know which ones you’re talking about.” Manuel rushed down the aisles with Thomas at his heel, looking for something to replace the boy’s incomplete set of footwear. “And in fact I’d prefer _not_ to talk about that right now. I’m still recovering from the cake thing, so let’s take this one step at a time.” He picked out a pair of simple black slides that would do for a trip to Taco Bell and back and turned around to show Thomas. “These’ll fit, what do you - ”

But Manuel was talking to empty air.

Thomas had disappeared. _How?_

Manuel tightened his lips and took a quick survey up and down the aisle to see if Thomas had gone ahead or fallen behind to check something out.

He hadn’t. He wasn’t even in the aisle anymore.

“Oh, for god’s sake…” Manuel muttered, flinging the slides carelessly behind him as he trekked down the aisle and rounded a corner in search of Thomas. That boy really could not keep still for ten seconds.

At that moment, Manuel felt a vibration in his back pocket. Probably Lukas or Bastian wondering where the hell they were. He dug the device from his jeans and answered it, not even bothering with a proper greeting.

“Thomas broke his shoe. We’re at Wal-mart getting a new one. I can’t find him. Thomas, I mean, not the shoe. He just disappeared off the face of the planet. He - _Thomas, where did you go_?!”

A cheeky grin was plastered across the boy’s face, and his hands clutched something white, fluffly, and utterly unrecognizable.

“I was getting a new pair of shoes, like you told me to!” Thomas defended himself.

“Yeah, I said to get _shoes_ , not a...a...a...what even _is_ that you’re holding? A ferret?!” Manuel still held the phone up to his ear. Bastian and Lukas were snorting with laughter on the other end, but Manuel was too distracted by the reappearance of his teammate to notice.

“Nope!” Thomas’ grin brightened, if that was even possible, and he arranged the fluffy white thing so Manuel could see what it was.

It was a pair of bunny slippers.

To make matters even worse, the bunny on each foot sported a pair of orange star-shaped sunglasses.

And to complete Manuel’s nightmare, a matching pair of orange star-shaped sunglasses was included with the slipper set for the buyer to wear.

His phone clattered to the floor.

“No,” he whispered, eyes transfixed on the horrible rabbits.

Thomas lifted the slippers and rubbed them against his cheek, smiling contentedly as his eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”

Manuel shook his head. “Please, Thomas. Where did you even find those in your size? I’ll let you buy any pair of shoes you want, you can get moonboots if you want, but please not those…”

Thomas opened his eyes to peck a kiss on both of the bunnies in turn. “I like these. I want them. They’re mine.”

Manuel spluttered for a moment while Thomas watched curiously, petting his bunnies. The blond bent down slowly to pick up his phone, which was still connected to Lukas’. Then, finding some words, he spoke into the device. “Rabbit catastrophe. Talk to you later.” He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket, taking a deep breath and blowing out the air slowly as he did so.

“It’s not a catastrophe, Manu,” Thomas disputed.

Manuel raised his eyebrows. “As long as you keep those atrocities off your face.”

Thomas scowled. “They are _not_ atrocities. And besides, you wear slippers on your feet, stupid.”

“The glasses, I mean. I guess you could get away with the slippers, I’ll let that one slide, but put on the matching sunglasses and you’re just begging to be made fun of,” Manuel clarified.

Thomas seemed surprised. “Glasses?” He examined the creatures further and discovered the bonus orange star-shaped matching sunglasses, an excited look creeping onto his face.

It took all of Manuel’s self control not to slap himself in the forehead. That was definitely something Thomas did not need to be aware of.

But Thomas’ excitement was short-lived and a look of outrage crossed his face. He pressed the bunnies protectively against his chest. “Hey, Manu, here’s some news for you. You’re the only person who _ever_ makes fun of me. The rest of the world isn’t so concerned about what I’m doing, eating, and wearing 24/7, I’m afraid you’re alone in that matter. Fuck off.”

And then Thomas stomped away with a tight grip on his bunny slippers. He was headed in the direction of the cash registers, jaunty pop music playing throughout the store, his pink rodent sock proudly on display on his left foot. Well, at least the slippers matched the sock.

Manuel felt his heart crashing into his ribcage. Not again. He'd really done it this time.

For what felt like the thousandth time that day, Manuel was chasing after the striker. When he reached him, Manuel snatched the slippers right out of Thomas' grasp.

Thomas made a noise of protest and started grabbing for the slippers, but Manuel held them up high and out of Thomas' reach. Being six foot four had its advantages.

“Give them to me!” whined Thomas. He knew no matter how hard a fight he put up, Manuel was too strong and he wouldn’t succeed. But he tried anyway, climbing up the massive goalkeeper as if he were a monkey climbing a tree.

“Relax, I just want to _pay_ for them! I’m doing you a favor!” Manuel countered, scraping the boy off of him and getting in line for the cash register. If they were anywhere else in the world, they probably would’ve attracted more than their share of attention and ‘would you please leave, sir?’s. But alas, they were at Walmart and there were plenty more dire situations to address. “Just go outside and wait for me.”

Thomas placed his hands on his hips. “I don’t trust you. If I go outside, you’ll leave without my slippers.”

Manuel moved forward in the line, staring straight ahead. “Okay. Stay here then.” He scooped up several jars of Nutella from a display by the checkout and added them to his repertoire of things to be purchased.

Manuel was fuming inside. But his irritation was no longer directed at Thomas; this time, he was mad at himself. What was wrong with him? Why did he have to be such a crabby jerk all the time? This was no way to appease Thomas, at all. He was quickly losing opportunities to make it up to the boy, throwing them away like they didn’t matter at all. But they did.

“Why are you buying all that Nutella?” Thomas wanted to know.

Manuel grunted and shook his head. “Why are you so weird?”

“It’s not good for you.”

“Neither is Taco Bell.”

“It’s too sugary.”

Manuel raised an eyebrow. “And your coffee isn’t?”

“That’s different,” Thomas countered.

Manuel placed his items on the conveyer belt. The cashier didn’t even look twice at the purchases. She had probably witnessed much stranger things than two six foot plus Germans buying a pair of rabbit slippers and seven jars of Nutella. “Do you have to comment on _everything?_ All you do all day is blabber nonstop, no one even knows what you’re saying half the time. Just let me have my Nutella and we can call it even.”

“You just had a fit over my choice in footwear, so who’s to say we’re calling it even? I think you owe me a lot more than I owe you, to be honest,” Thomas replied calmly.

He was right. Manuel didn’t even bother to respond. Instead, he arranged his face into his best smile, thanked the cashier, and yanked the bagged purchases off the counter.

“Wait, let me put my new shoes on.”

Manuel stopped abruptly, fished through the plastic bag for the slippers and handed them to Thomas.

“Trade?” Thomas held out his old shoe and Manuel nodded, placing it in the plastic bag with his copious supply of Nutella.

He bit his tongue and waited for Thomas to snap off the tags, detach the sunglasses, and gear himself up.

Thomas grinned and gave a thumbs up. The sunglasses concealed the crinkles around his eyes that Manuel knew were there. He looked so ridiculous yet so happy in his new fuzzy slippers that Manuel had a hard time keeping his own lips from twitching up into a smile. He had to admit, with their sunglasses, the rabbits actually looked sort of...well, cool. And Thomas wore them well. He really did. With as much confidence as the boy radiated, Manuel wanted to run back and get himself a pair of matching slippers.

“You like them, don’t you Manu? Come on, you have to,” Thomas prompted him.

Manuel shook his head, yet the smile that had been threatening to overtake him was now fully in place. “Of course I like them, Thomas. Let me borrow them sometime?”

“I would, but your big ass feet wouldn’t fit into them.” They began heading towards the exit, and Manuel knew this was it. Taco Bell. The moment they had all been waiting for.

“Maybe not, but I’m sure my cock would fit into your big ass mouth.”

Oops. 

He hadn’t meant to actually say that out loud.

But Thomas laughed. “Prove it.”

“Oh, I will…” Manuel hinted. “Tonight, when it’s just you and me, I’ll do anything you want. Anything.”

“Anything?” Thomas asked, slipping his hand into Manuel’s as they started down the sidewalk towards Taco Bell.

Manuel’s pulse quintupled in about half a second. He suddenly found it difficult to breathe, let alone answer Thomas.

“Manu?”

It was all too much. The feeling of Thomas’ soft yet sturdy hand encased in his own, the way Thomas peered up at him, his eyes disguised by the star-shaped sunglasses. The way he didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of him, how he did his own thing and did it with pride. The way he was so quick to forgive, forget and move on. It was a never ending cycle that Manuel feared he would never be able to break. Manuel swallowed hard.

“Yes.” It came out as scarcely a whisper.

Thomas paused before saying anything else. Their palms were sweating against each other, but he didn’t care. This was the man he wanted. This was a man who tolerated him, liked him even, through all his irritating imperfections. This was a man who couldn’t stand a minute with him yet didn’t want to be away from him. Manuel would have to fight for him, a battle against his own internal enemy, but Thomas knew he would. Miro wouldn’t ever give Thomas a chance, but Manuel wouldn’t ever give up. It was a nice feeling, having Manuel here with him, and Thomas somehow knew the feeling was mutual.

“This is okay, right?” Thomas finally said, nearly as quietly as Manuel had spoken. They were getting a fair amount of stares as they made their way down the sidewalk; Thomas wondered whether it was on account of his unique attire or the fact that he was holding hands with another male, one who was much thicker and several inches taller than he was. Thomas felt like a scrawny little kid next to Manuel; he was younger, smaller, and considerably less mature in several areas. However, Manuel’s soft, boyish facial features and tendency to shyness made up for it, and he certainly had some growing up to do as well.

Lost in his thoughts, Thomas finally realized that Manuel hadn’t answered him again. But by the way Manuel was squeezing his hand as if he were afraid Thomas would let go and run away, Thomas figured it _was_ okay.

Taco Bell was quickly approaching, and for the first time since it was suggested last night, Thomas didn’t have as strong a desire to go in. He wanted to keep holding onto Manuel’s larger hand and take him somewhere they could be alone.

“I talked to Miro today.” Manuel broke the silence between them.

Thomas’ heart skipped a beat. “You did?”

Manuel nodded, stopping in front of the door to the taco chain. Thomas was busy staring at the goalkeeper so he nearly ran into the glass, but Manuel tugged on his arm to stop him.

“What did he tell you?” Thomas asked quietly as Manuel elegantly removed the sunglasses with his empty hand and slid them on top of his own blond head.

Thomas’ eyes were wide and clear, his bottom lip sticking out just a little, awaiting an answer. His head was tilted back slightly to make up for the height difference. Manuel was chewing his own lip, eyes focused on the ground.

“Let’s go inside,” Manuel replied. He gave Thomas’ hand a quick squeeze before prying his fingers from the boy’s and pulling the door open. Thomas tagged behind like an over excited puppy, his tail wagging a mile a minute. The idea of a nice, juicy taco was much more appealing than whatever Miroslav had had to say about him. It’s not like he didn’t already know, anyway, and he’d prefer not to hear it again.

They were immediately greeted with a pungent whiff of heavily flavored meat and beans, which made Thomas practically drool with delight but gave Manuel an immediate headache. When had he ever thought this would be a good idea?

Bastian and Lukas were the sole diners at the restaurant, seated at a table in the middle of the small area, their heads stuck together as usual. It appeared that they hadn’t even noticed the arrival of their friends. In front of them sat a large, untouched assortment of tacos and burritos; apparently they had requested the whole menu.

“Well, here we are, then,” Thomas stated merrily, gliding across the tiled floor in his fuzzy slippers, the ears of the rabbits sticking up straight and proud.

“Yep,” Manuel said. “Here we are. It’s your dream come true.” _Can we leave now?_ He adjusted the sunglasses, which were slipping off his head.

Thomas smiled happily. He had a plan, only part of which consisted of eating half the contents of the taco pile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally, it's the moment we've all been waiting for...I wonder what's gonna happen (I never really know myself until I write it, tbh!) :D
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you're still liking it! If you feel like it, leave a comment because your feedback is my fuel to keep writing and often makes my day :)


	5. Taco Bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter! Unless I get some stroke of brilliance and decide to write another one. But for now, this is the end :)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's continued to read this. And an extra big thank you to those of you who have left kudos and comments, it means the world to me and is my power to keep on writing. I had a lot of fun writing this fic because it's been so ridiculous and cracky, but I've also run into my share of writer's block. Without your encouragement I probably wouldn't have kept on going, so thank you so much for your kind words and support <3
> 
> I hope you are satisfied with this last chapter :)

“Not hungry, Manu?” Bastian took a bite of his burrito and awaited an answer.

Manuel smiled. “No, not really. Thanks for feeding him, though.” He lifted an elbow to indicate the boy next to him, who had been silenced by the array of tacos and burritos ready to be eaten. Thomas was hunched over his tray, shoveling a taco into his mouth, juice dripping out of the shell and all over the table.

Bastian’s and Lukas’ gazes shifted to Thomas. The boy seemed completely unaware that he had company, mesmerized by his meal, like a dog given a toy filled with peanut butter to dig out. Manuel made a mental note of this strategy in case he ever needed Thomas to stop bothering him again.

“He can really focus when he wants to,” remarked Lukas. “I guess just not on a wide range of topics at the same time.”

It was true, and Manuel figured that’s part of what made Thomas such a great footballer. His ability to zone in to the game, unfazed by anything and bursting with confidence, was incredible. Unfortunately, Thomas’ focus seemed to avert to begging Manuel or whoever else was around for attention whenever they were off the pitch.

For a second, Thomas’ lifted his eyes, still chewing a taco. But then he returned to the task at hand, deciding he was not quite filled to capacity yet.

Finishing off the last bite of burrito, Bastian lifted an arm to draw across Lukas’ shoulders. The Pole responded by leaning into his boyfriend, resting his head against Bastian’s shoulder and letting his eyes slip shut. Bastian rubbed small circles into Lukas’ arm, feeling his muscles rippling beneath his hold. The midfielder winked at Manuel, who was watching the interaction longingly.

“Alright?” he asked, noting Manuel’s wistful gaze.

“Yeah…” Manuel blinked hard then looked away. While his dining mates were distracted, Lukas and Bastian by each other and Thomas by food, he took a quick inventory of his surroundings. Sheets of sharp fluorescent lighting covered the ceiling, making Manuel’s vision shimmer. Really, was it necessary to have that many lights, especially when it was daytime and the restaurant has plenty of windows? Although most of the window space was being utilized by large advertisements screaming about the new breakfast burrito to passersby. The restaurant was empty save for the German footballers, yet music played throughout the small area and prevented the occasion from feeling silent and strange. Manuel decided this particular music would’ve been more appropriate for an airport, or perhaps an elevator, than for a Mexican fast food chain. Besides the music, there was not a lot of noise except for the steady slurping and crunching issued by Thomas.

It wasn’t bad at all. It may have been pleasant even, forgiving the presence of the harsh fluorescent lighting. Thomas hadn’t done anything stupid yet, and even if he did, there would be no one here except the preoccupied staff to witness it.

Manuel folded his arms onto the table and resettled his attentions. Bastian whispered something to Lukas, whose face lit up into a smile though his eyes were still lightly closed. The midfielder giggled at whatever he had revealed to his boyfriend. Manuel felt like an intruder, felt left out, as his own partner seemed to have chosen food over him. He sighed heavily, burying his face into his hands. He spread out his fingers so he could examine the dull gray design of the surface of the table before him. For once in his life, he wished Thomas would begin nagging him. _Life is funny like that,_ the goalkeeper thought.

But to Manuel’s great relief, Bastian and Lukas parted at that moment, returning to their own sides of the table. Lukas reached for another taco, opened the wrapping and pulled it out. Manuel quickly adjusted himself and tucked his arms back under the table, arranging his face into what he hoped was an innocent expression.

“Thomas.” Bastian looked at the boy with amusement. He hadn’t yet come up for a breath.

Thomas made a muffled noise through a mouthful of taco. He attempted to look up, and---

“Oh, _gross_ ,” Manuel groaned. “Look what you’ve done, Thomas.” He looked at the boy in disgust, at the taco contents that had spilled down the front of his clean shirt. Thomas clutched the now-empty shell, peering down at his soiled chest as Bastian and Lukas snorted with laughter.

“Shit,” Thomas mumbled. Slowly, he set the shell onto his tray and began to scoop up as much of the meat, cheese and and lettuce as he could with his bare hands. Bastian and Lukas found this ordeal to be particularly hilarious, yet Manuel did not. Admittedly, it must have taken a lot of talent to spill an entire taco and leave the shell clean. But now was not the time to be impressed. They were in a public place, and reporters could enter at any moment, snap a few pictures, and embarrass the entire team. Manuel had not been ravenously eager to eat when they entered, and now his appetite had completely vanished.

“What the hell are you doing?! Use a napkin!” Manuel snapped. He pushed his chair back with a loud scraping sound and stormed away from the table, returning with a large pile of napkins. He tossed a few of them at Thomas, who had given up any attempt at sorting himself out and was instead licking his fingers, stuffing whatever he could salvage into his mouth and laughing openly.

Manuel halted. He flung an arm wildly in Thomas’ direction and glared at the snickering couple in aggravation. “Can you two stop giggling for once in your life and make him act his age?” Remembering that Thomas’ star-shaped sunglasses were sitting on top of his own head, he ripped them off and dropped them onto the table. There was already one fool at this table and no immediate need for another.

“Relax, Manu,” Lukas advised. “It’s fine. He’ll take care of himself.” He offered the goalkeeper a reassuring smile.

“You get all worked up over nothing. Let him deal with it,” added Bastian. It was an odd way to be discussing the boy in question while he was right there. But the boy in question _was_ Thomas Müller, after all.

Manuel rolled his eyes in response, collapsing back onto his chair. “You’re not his roommate--” he turned towards Thomas with a napkin in hand-- “You haven’t had to deal with this--” he began roughly scrubbing the front of Thomas’ shirt-- “every--” Scrub. “Fucking--” Scrub. “ _Day!_ ” Thomas winced. “It may be funny to you, but you’re not the one who has to clean up after him all the time!”

“Manu, you’re hurting me, stop.” Thomas whined and squirmed around, his face contorted with pain at Manuel’s harsh gestures. He tried to push the goalkeeper away, but Manuel grabbed his shoulder tightly and continued scrubbing.

“Well, maybe if you were doing this yourself, I wouldn’t have to!” Manuel was almost shouting, but he still maintained some control over his temper.

“Okay, then get the fuck off of me and I will!” Thomas wiggled out of Manuel’s grip and shoved him hard, his chest raw and stinging. The coarse texture of the napkins had penetrated through his thin, soaked shirt, and Manuel’s frustration was no means of alleviation. He jumped to his feet and hurried into the bathroom, coated with taco ingredients, bunny slippers and all, slamming the door behind him before Manuel could follow.

Silence. Even the music had faded without their notice.

Manuel had almost forgotten that Bastian and Lukas were still there. He bit his lip and wrung his hands around his neck, breathing slowly.

The older ones looked at each other, silently communicating about what to do. They reached a mutual agreement that one of them should help Thomas while the other would stay with Manuel and calm him down. Bastian nodded before standing up and ambling after Thomas into the bathroom. Manuel watched him disappear, feeling a strange mixture of relief and envy.

“Manu.” Lukas addressed him, but he did not turn around. His eyes were still trained on the closed door that contained Thomas and Bastian. What was Bastian going to do?

“Manu, listen to me, please.”

“What?” Manuel heaved. Grudgingly, he shifted back around to face Lukas. The forward no longer looked amused, was no longer laughing. That caught and held Manuel’s attention. It was much easier to take Lukas seriously when Bastian was not by his side, poking him and whispering in his ear and grinning mischievously. Manuel fiddled with his fingers nervously, fully expecting a lecture.

He knew he deserved one.

Lukas shook his head, staring at the empty chair where Thomas had been. The boy had certainly left his mark in the area; his corner of the table was a straight up mess of wrappers, crumbled shell, bits of lettuce and cheese and and meat and smears of liquid.

“You both need to grow up,” Lukas stated. Manuel opened his mouth to argue, but Lukas cut him off. “He does especially. But you’re not helping. You’re giving him all the attention he wants. You react to everything he does and that’s his fuel to keep acting.”

Manuel knew it was true. It was what Thomas himself had already said countless times. But ignoring Thomas was very hard, very hard indeed.

“I know that,” Manuel replied quietly. He looked down at the table, ashamed at what he was thinking. He felt his cheeks heating.

Lukas shrugged. “So stop doing it, then. Everyone would be happier that way.”

“It’s not that simple, Lukas,” Manuel grumbled. He thought of everything that had happened in less than 24 hours because of Thomas. Firstly, he’d gotten no sleep. Their suite was littered with dry cake ingredients, and he suspected there was still vomit in the sink unless the poor housekeepers had stopped by to clean up their room. Training had been a real drag. He had spent half his afternoon at Wal-mart and emerged with seven jars of Nutella and a pair of slippers. And finally, he still had no idea where the majority of his clothes were. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He knew what he needed to do and was eager to do it, but was slightly concerned about the repercussions it would bring.

“I’m going to talk to him.” Manuel stood once again and looked to Lukas for approval.

The forward raised an eyebrow but agreed. “Be nice, big boy.” A smile lingered on his lips and Manuel found himself returning it.

“I will,” he promised as Lukas began gathering the large quantity of trash that had accumulated on their table.

Manuel wandered past the empty tables until he reached the bathroom. He knocked on the door tentatively, crazy images forming in his mind that he tried to push away. Not surprisingly, the door did not open for him, but he did not blame the occupants in the least. If he were in the condition that Thomas was in, he’d lock the door and create a stockpile behind it, too.

Thankfully, however, the door was not locked. Manuel turned the handle and eased it open, peering in to assess the situation. It was a single bathroom, as Manuel had expected. Thomas was sitting on the lid of the toilet, shirtless and slumped over, staring blankly in front of him. Bastian had filled the sink with soap and water and was busy washing Thomas’ shirt. He had been speaking, but stopped and turned his head, mouth still agape, to determine who had just joined them.

“Hey.” Manuel awkwardly shuffled into the small area, his hand still on the door handle.

Bastian smiled before resuming his task. “Calmed down a bit?”

Manuel felt himself blushing. “Yeah. I can…” He gestured vaguely at the sink and at Thomas, indicating he could take over.

“It’s all you.” Bastian stepped back and pulled a paper towel from the dispenser to dry his hands. He then leaned over Thomas and muttered something in his ear, to which Thomas nodded but still looked utterly deflated. Resting his elbows on his knees, the boy lifted a hand to support his forehead, still staring at nothing in particular.

Bastian nodded at Manuel encouragingly before disposing of the paper towel and leaving the two roommates to themselves. He shut the door behind him, sending a silent prayer that they would not kill each other. But he had a feeling it was unnecessary.

Manuel did not say anything. He simply resumed the task of scrubbing the stains from Thomas’ shirt. Bastian had already done most of the work, but Manuel made sure it was good and clean before he drained the sink and rinsed the shirt in cold water, gently sloshing it about. He turned the sink off and was greeted by silence.

Thomas was still, unmoving, and silent. The exact opposite of his normal self.

Manuel took a deep breath, ringing out the shirt as much as he could. He could apologize now. Apologize for everything he had done, right here in this bathroom at Taco Bell, and make everything okay. But for some reason, he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth. Imitating Bastian, he withdrew several paper towels and attempted to dry the boy’s shirt. He studied himself in the grimy mirror, taking note of his deeply flushed cheeks and exhausted eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Manuel froze.

He could hardly believe that Thomas had spoken.

“Uh...what?”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas repeated patiently.

Manuel stomach swooped. He gulped thickly and squeezed the garment he held, as if summoning its protection. Thomas’ shirt. He nodded slowly, acknowledge Thomas’ words.

“It’s not your fault, Manu. I know I’m immature and I don’t blame you for getting fed up with me,” the boy continued delicately.

Manuel blinked. Then before he could realize it, he was in front of Thomas, the shirt being left behind. Thomas stood obediently and Manuel pinned him against the wall, his bare skin smooth and cool under his touch.

Thomas bit his lip and peered up at the goalkeeper beggingly, his pupils shimmering. He was too fucking adorable and Manuel no longer had any control over what he was doing. 

Thomas reached under Manuel’s shirt and pressed his palms against Manuel’s hard chest, not to push him away but to bring him closer. He located the older man’s nipples and flicked at them teasingly, causing Manuel to moan in desperation. Thomas giggled at the noise. “You like that?”

“I want you so bad,” Manuel growled. He ran his hands down Thomas’ slim figure, stopping at the waistline of his jeans. He fumbled with the boy’s belt with uncooperative fingers, and when he finally managed to loosen the buckle, he still had a zipper and button in his way. He groaned impatiently as he practically ripped Thomas’ jeans open. Finally, he gained access to what he was looking for and wrapped a large hand around it. Now it was Thomas’ turn to squeak out in pleasure, his head tilting back against the dirty bathroom wall. A bead of perspiration trickled from his hairline down the side of his face.

All was forgotten as Manuel fell forward, his lips crashing against the boy’s and attacking them hungrily. Thomas relented, having been weakened by Manuel’s strong, pumping hold on his cock, and gave the man full access to his mouth. He clawed at the blond’s heated, pale skin, knowing he’d leave scratches but not caring. His cock throbbed and hardened as Manuel played with it, and he knew if they were not careful he would come undone all over the floor right here in the only bathroom at Taco Bell.

Manuel moaned deeply into the kiss, sending vibrations through Thomas’ body. With his free hand, the goalkeeper tugged at the boy’s soft hair. One quick yank did it for Thomas and with a desperate squeal, he released all over Manuel’s hand, his pants, and the floor.

Then there was a bang on the door.

Manuel jumped back, looking frantically over his shoulder. His lips were sore and tingling. He licked them as if that would help disguise what had just happened.

“Uh,” Thomas panted, his eyes squeezed shut. “Maybe we should...clean...up the...floor…”

“You think?” Manuel grunted. “Maybe we should lock the door, too.” And with that, he pressed the button on the door handle. Relief spread through him when he heard the signal click. At least they could clear the evidence without the risk of anyone bursting in, whether it was their inseparable friends or, god forbid, any of the unsuspecting staff.

Manuel heard a loud laugh following the resounding click of the lock. It sounded like it was coming from right outside the door. And it sounded an awful lot like Lukas Podolski. His faithful sidekick Bastian was most likely laughing too, but the blond tended to be more reserved than his boyfriend.

“Fuck.” Manuel grumbled. He hoped that at least Lukas had had the decency to not audio record what he had witnessed, but those hopes were whimsical. He yanked some more paper towels from the dispenser, wet them, and shoved them into Thomas’ hands. “Clean it up.”

Thomas re-did his jeans before lowering himself to the floor. He swiped at the cloudy liquid, turned the paper towel over and made a face. Conclusively, this floor had not been mopped in years.

Manuel lowered himself onto the lid of the toilet, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. Out of all the things he expected to happen at Taco Bell, this had definitely not been one of them. But he was okay with that. He smiled, watching Thomas’ various facial expressions as he squeamishly wiped his own come off the tiled floor. The laughter had faded outside the door, and Manuel was grateful. He assumed Bastian had dragged Lukas away, insisting that their friends needed privacy to sort out their differences. But just to make sure, he stood again and cracked the door open.

As predicted, the birds of a feather were gone. But they had brought over Manuel’s shopping bag of Nutella and left it outside the door.

“Genius,” Manuel muttered, scooping up the bag before re-locking the door and returning to Thomas. He knew exactly how they had intended for him to utilise it.

Manuel retook his seat just as Thomas straightened up to throw away the soiled towels. He held them at the very tip between two fingers, sticking out his tongue in disgust as he dropped them into the trashcan. Meanwhile, Manuel had unscrewed one of the jars and stuck three fingers in, getting a good scoop of the chocolatey goodness.

“Thomas, come he-ere…” Manuel waved the boy over with his Nutella-coated hand, smiling hopefully. Thomas obeyed, mirroring Manuel’s grin, his eyes twinkling. He stood between Manuel’s legs and the goalkeeper wrapped one arm around his small waist while the other took care to decorate his bare chest with swirls of Nutella. Thomas giggled and squirmed around; the cool spread and Manuel’s fingers dancing across his skin tickled. But Manuel had a firm enough hold on the boy to keep him from bouncing away in his ridiculous bunny slippers.

Manuel reached into the jar for another scoop, feeling extremely giddy but happier than he’d been since the final whistle at the end their last match. Thomas looked down at him adoringly, a hazy smile spread across his face as Manuel continued to soothe his skin with the hazelnut spread.

“Feeling better?” Manuel prompted. He was gentle as he worked, as if making up for earlier when he’d been so rough on the boy’s chest.

Thomas nodded happily, moving his hands to Manuel’s shoulders. “Do you think we should date?”

Manuel’s hands froze on Thomas’ abdomen, where he had been circling his belly button. “ _What?_ ” 

Thomas caught the goalkeeper’s baffled expression and looked him in the eye. “Do you want to be boyfriends? I mean, I like you and I think you like me, so…” He tilted his head and waggled his eyebrows to finish the sentence.

 _Yes,_ thought Manuel. _I do, Thomas_. “Uhm, well...don’t you think we should…”

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Uh…” Manuel wasn’t sure what he thought they should be doing. Instead of answering, he scooped up some more Nutella and got to work on Thomas’ prominent collarbones. Thomas leaned over to grant him easier access.

“Don’t I think we should what?” He mumbled, his face inches away from Manuel’s. His bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously, his face flushed with excitement. He brushed his nose lightly against Manuel’s softer one, prompting an answer. “Hm?”

 _Focus on the Nutella,_ Manuel thought to himself. _Nutella_. This wasn’t real. And even if it was, there was no way it could last longer than a few hours. _Nutella_. But Thomas was so close, he could feel the boy’s warm breath against his face, could smell the many tacos he’d consumed only minutes ago, and now was as good an opportunity as anytime else--

At that precise moment, the music started up again. An unromantic ragtime jam blasted through the speakers at a volume that could only mean that Bastian and Lukas were somehow involved. Thomas let out an unattractive shriek and jumped away in surprise. Manuel had a mini heart attack at the sudden interruption.

“Holy shit,” the goalkeeper exclaimed. “That scared me.”

Thomas nodded his agreement, his face set in a pout. A single tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it off sadly.

“Smile,” Manuel commanded. He prodded the upturned corners of his own mouth, showing Thomas what he wanted.

Thomas didn’t answer, but he did offer Manuel a sheepish grin.

“Come back so I can finish?” Manuel suggested.

“Okay.” Thomas returned to his spot between Manuel’s legs, but instead of continuing his Nutella masterpiece, Manuel removed his own t-shirt and and pulled Thomas into a tight hug, which was reciprocated immediately. He figured the boy deserved one.

Thomas wrapped his arms sloppily around the goalkeeper, leaning against him, and Manuel held his ground. He got to work on the boy’s chest, licking it clean and greedily sucking at the clean skin before moving onto another spot. He had never tasted Nutella this sweet before, Nutella this pure. Thomas sighed contentedly into his hair.

And as Manuel feasted, loud jaunty music blasting in his ears and rebounding throughout the dirty Taco Bell bathroom, he realized how at ease he felt. Thomas had a way of making everything seem okay, even if it was the farthest thing from sane Manuel could fathom. Thomas had a way of making everything turn out just fine.

“I love having you as a roommate,” the younger one said simply, easily. “I love you.”

Manuel found himself grinning. “Likewise.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had sooooo much fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed it too! 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for taking the time to read this and let me know what you think! :)


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